February Is Just Plain Malicious.

What I Really Want To Do Is To Write A Hilarious Farce.

The Thing I Have Learned Through The Years Is That One Idea 'doth' Not A Novel Make. A Novel Must Be Several Seemingly Unrelated Ideas That Somehow Magically Come Together To Create The Fabric Of The Story.

...i Just Gave Up Trying To Be A Christian... Let's Face It, I Ain't Got The Knack For Holiness. Besides, I Didn't Have The Slightest Little Desire To Join The Likes Of Reverend Pelham At The Dinner Table For Fourteen Minutes, Much Less At The Banquet Table Of Heaven Eternally. Eternity Is A Mighty Long Time To Be Stuck With People Who Judge Every Word You Say And Think And Condemn Most Of What You Do. It Struck Me As Pretty Miserable Company. And If Reverend Pelham Was The Kind Of Company God Preferred To Keep, Well, I Just Hoped They'd Be Happy Together.

A Good Story Is Alive, Ever Changing And Growing As It Meets Each Listener Or Reader In A Spirited And Unique Encounter, While The Moralistic Tale Is Not Only Dead On Arrival, It's Already Been Embalmed. It's Safer That Way. When A Lively Story Goes Dancing Out To Meet The Imagination Of A Child, The Teller Loses Control Over Meaning. The Child Gets To Decide What The Story Means.

The Reason God Made February Short A Few Days Was Because He Knew That By The Time People Came To The End Of It They Would Die If They Had To Stand One More Blasted Day.