You Like Me, Josie Moraine. You Just

People I Didn't Know Formed A Circle Around Me, Sheltering Me From View. They Escorted Me Safely Back To Our Jurta, Undetected. They Didn't Ask For Anything. They Were Happy To Help Someone, To Succeed At Something, Even If They Weren't To Benefit. We'd Been Trying To Touch The Sky From The Bottom Of The Ocean. I Realized That If We Boosted One Another, Maybe We'd Get A Little Closer.

Charlie Marlowe Never Wrote Horror, But Somehow Horror Was Writing Charlie Marlowe.

New Orleans Is Unlike Any City In America. Its Cultural Diversity Is Woven Into The Food, The Music, The Architecture - Even The Local Superstitions. It's A Sensory Experience On All Levels And There's A Story Lurking Around Every Corner.

One Day When I Was Fourteen, I Told Charlie That I Hated Mother. “don’t Hate Her, Jo,” He Told Me. “feel Sorry For Her. She’s Not Near As Smart As You. She Wasn’t Born With Your Compass, So She Wanders Around, Bumping Into All Sorts Of Walls. That’s Sad.” I Understood What He Meant, And It Made Me See Mother Differently. But Wasn’t There Some Sort Of Rule That Said Parents Had To Be Smarter Than Their Kids? It Didn’t Seem Fair.

I Felt As If I Were Riding A Pendulum. Just As I Would Swing Into The Abyss Of Hopelessness, The Pendulum Would Swing Back With Some Small Goodness.