Like A Blinking Cursor On

All We Had Was Her Room, Her Stories, And The Quiet That Settled In As We Tried In Vain To Spread Ourselves Out And Fill The Space She'd Left Behind.

Okay," I Said, "what's Your Biggest Fear?" As Always, He Took A Second To Think About The Answer. "clowns," He Said. "clowns." "yup." I Just Looked At Him. "what?" He Said, Glancing Over At Me. "that Is Not A Real Answer," I Told Him. "says Who?" "says Me. I Meant A Real Fear, Like Of Failure, Of Death, Of Regret. Like That. Something That Keeps You Awake Nights, Questioning Your Very Existence." He Thought For A Second. "clowns.

The Bottom Line Is, What Defines You Isn't How Many Times You Crash, But The Number Of Times You Get Back On The Bike. As Long As It's One More. You're All Good.

I Think When You're A Beginning Author With Any Publishing Company, There's Only So Much They Can Put Behind You.

I Love Ya, And It's Been A Really Good Fit For Me. But At Some Point, I Would Like To Try Something Else: A Collection Of Short Stories, Or Writing About Something Other Than High School. A Lot Has Happened To Me Since I Was Eighteen.