Genre Categories Are Irrelevant. I

Condemned And Executioner With Aren't Coupled In A Primitive Rite.

I Held Out My Book. It Was Precious To Me, As Were All The Things I'd Written; Even Where I Despised Their Inadequacy There Was Not One I Would Disown. Each Tore Its Way From My Entrails. Each Had Shortened My Life, Killed Me With Its Own Special Little Death.

Tales Of Heroes End In Bliss.

Writers Tell Stories Better, Because They've Had More Practice, But Everyone Has A Book In Them. Yes, That Old Cliche.

The Soul Is A Magician. Only Living Flesh Hampers It.