I’d Heard He Had Started

You Have To Be A Bit Of A Liar To Tell A Story The Right Way.

Remember This Son, If You Forget Everything Else. A Poet Is A Musician Who Can't Sing. Words Have To Find A Man's Mind Before They Can Touch His Heart. And, Some Men's Minds Are Woeful Small Targets. Music Touches Their Hearts Directly, No Matter How Small Or Stubborn The Mind Of The Man Who Listens.

I've Read Fantasy My Whole Life. Quite Literally; My Mom Read Me The Hobbit Before I Could Read Stuff To Myself. So I Love Fantasy; That's What I Read For Fun, It's What I Read Professionally To Keep Abreast Of What's In The Genre - It's Where My Heart Is.

On His First Hand He Wore Rings Of Stone, Iron, Amber, Wood And Bone. There Were Rings Unseen On His Second Hand, One Was Blood In A Flowing Band, One Was Air All Whisper Thin, And The Ring Of Ice Had A Flaw Within. Full Faintly Shone The Ring Of Flame, And The Final Ring Was Without Name.

I Wanted To Tell Her That She Was The First Beautiful Thing I Had Seen In Three Years. That The Sight Of Her Yawning To The Back Of Her Hand Was Enough To Drive The Breath From Me. How I Sometimes Lost The Sense Of Her Words In The Sweet Fluting Of Her Voice. I Wanted To Say That If She Were With Me Then Somehow Nothing Could Ever Be Wrong For Me Again.