She Hoped He Was Running

You Know How We'd Get Along Better? If Everybody'd Just Remember How We're All Related. White, Black, Asian, Skin. No Difference. All The Bloodlines Go Back To That One Old Mama In Africa.

Like Legend And Myth, Magic Fades When It Is Unused - Hence All The Old Tales Of Elfin Kingdoms Moving Further And Further Away From Our World, Or That Magical Beings Require Our Faith, Our Belief In Their Existence, To Survive. That Is A Lie. All They Require Is Our Recognition.

Growing Up, I'd Already Decided I Wanted To Be A Beatnik. A Bohemian Poet, I Thought. Or A Musician. Maybe An Artist. I'd Dress In Black Turtlenecks And Smoke Gitanes. I'd Listen To Cool Jazz In Clubs, Getting Up To Read Devastating Truths From My Notebook, Leaning Against The Microphone, Cigarette Dangling From My Hand.

The Thing To Remember When You're Writing," He Said, " Is, It's Not Whether Or Not What You Put On Paper Is True. It's Whether It Wakes A Truth In Your Reader. I Don't Care What Literary Device You Might Use, Or Belief Systems You Tap Into--if You Can Make A Story True For The Reader, If You Can Give Them A Glimpse Into Another Way Of Seeing The World, Or Another Way That They Can Cope With Their Problems, Then That Story Is A Succes.

One Cannot Seek To Uphold Honor In A Being That Has None.