Writers Are Also Sort Of Like Vultures,

In Each Of Us Lie Good And Bad, Light And Dark, Art And Pain, Choice And Regret, Cruelty And Sacrifice... No One Can Live In The Light All The Time.

I Thought Research Would Be More Glamorous, Somehow. I'd Give The Librarian A Secret Code Word And He'd Give Me The One Book I Needed And Whisper The Necessary Page Numbers. Like A Speakeasy. With Books.

The Glow Dies Down, And She's Standing At The End Of My Bed--the One Who's Been Following Me Around Leaving Feather Messages. I Take In The Torn Fishnets, Plaid Mini-kilt, Shiny, Riveted Breastplate With Leather Straps At The Sides And A Worn Great Temolo Decal Near The Left Shoulder. Her Wings Are A Crazy Black-and-white-checkered Pattern, Like They've Been Spray-painted At A Body Shop To Look Like Hipster Sneakers.

- 'music Opens Your Soul, Makes You Ready.' - 'ready For What?' - He Smiles Big. 'exactly.

The Mere Suggestion Of Fame And Fortune Casts A Glamour All Its Own. It Is Rather Alarming How Quickly People Will Turn Someone Else's Fiction Into Fact In Order To Support Their Own Fictions Of Themselves.