Can't All Beasts Be Tamed?

But I'm Going To Try To Tell The Truth. Except For The Parts I'm Leav­ing Out, Because There's Still Stuff I'm Just Not Going To Tell You. Get Used To It.

My Books Happen. They Tend To Blast In From Nowhere, Seize Me By The Throat, And Howl 'write Me! Write Me Now!' But They Rarely Stand Still Long Enough For Me To See What And Who They Are, Before They Hurtle Away Again. And So I Spend A Lot Of Time Running After Them, Like A Thrown Rider After An Escaped Horse, Saying 'wait For Me! Wait For Me!' And Waving My Notebook In The Air.

The Story Is Always Better Than Your Ability To Write It.

Mice Are Terribly Chatty. They Will Chat About Anything, And If There Is Nothing To Chat About, They Will Chat About Having Nothing To Chat About. Compared To Mice, Robins Are Reserved.

Laughter Went On And On, Like Sunlight And Stone, Even If The Human Beings Who Laughed Did Not.