Keep Thinking. You Can Hear

...they Told Me Of Color, That It Was An Illusion Of The Eye, An Event In The Perceiver's Mind, Not In The Object; They Told Me That Color Had No Reality; Indeed, They Told Me That Color Did Not Inhere In A Physical Body Any More Than Pain Was In A Needle. And Then They Imprisoned Me In Darkness; And Though There Was No Color There, I Still Was Black, And They Still Were White; And For That, They Bound And Gagged Me.

Older Teens Tend To Write To Me And Say, 'thank You For Not Writing Down To Teenagers.'

You Made Her Apologize For Sickness. For Her Courage. You Made Her Feel Sorry For Dying.

The Sky Was As Blue As A Stupid Postcard, And The Islands Were As Green As Islands.

I Feel Like It's Hard To Get Into Historical Novels Where You Know What The Story Is Far Too Well.