Where Are Your Pants, Son?

I Could Think Of Nothing Else To Say To Her. In Fact I Could Never Think Of Anything To Say To Her, And I Sat Thinking Of Past Painful Conversations Between Us: How Are You, Jean Louise? Fine, Thank You Ma'am, How Are You? Very Well, Thank You; What Have You Been Doing With Yourself? Nothin'. Don't You Do Anything? Nome. Certainly You Have Friends? Yessum. Well What Do You All Do? Nothin'.

Southern Lawyers Don't Read Novels Much.

I Didn't Expect The Book To Sell In The First Place. I Was Hoping For A Quick And Merciful Death At The Hands Of Reviewers But At The Same Time I Sort Of Hoped That Maybe Someone Would Like It Enough To Give Me Encouragement. Public Encouragement. I Hoped For A Little, As I Said, But I Got Rather A Whole Lot, And In Some Ways This Was Just About As Frightening As The Quick, Merciful Death I'd Expected.

She Was Born In The Objective Case.

I Just Thought You'd Like To Know I Can Read. You Got Anything Needs Readin' I Can Do It.