Writing Is A Job: You Must Show

When You Write, You Take The Ball And You Hold It Up To The Light And You Turn It Slowly, And Let People Draw Their Own Conclusions. And Try To Bring Empathy To All Sides Of The Equation.

It Was What You Did, Wolgast Understood; You Started To Tell A Story About Who You Were, And Soon Enough The Lies Were All You Had And You Became That Person.

I Was Very Much A Child Of The Cold War.

Sara Waited A Respectful Time, Knowing There Was Nothing She Could Do To Ease The Woman's Pain. Grief Was A Place, Sara Understood, Where A Person Went Alone. It Was Like A Room Without Doors, And What Happened In That Room, All The Anger And The Pain You Felt, Was Meant To Stay There, Nobody's Business But Yours.

The World Was A World Of Dreaming Souls Who Could Not Die.