Charlie Is One Of The Big Good

My Sheets Had Never Been So Clean As They Had In The Past Few Months. I Hardly Got Them On Again Before Something Else Happened And I Was Feverishly Ripping Them Off And Stuffing Them In The Wash With Double Amounts Of Soap And All The "extra" Buttons Pushed: Extra Wash, Extra Rinse, Extra Water, Extra Spin, Extra Protection Against Things That Go Bump In The Night.

I Like That: A Little Pressure On The Understood Boundaries Of Yourself. Sounded Like Something Out Of A Self-awareness Class, Probably With Yoga. See What Kind Of A Pretzel You Can Tie Yourself Into And Press On The Understood... I Was Raving, If Only To Myself.

Write What You Want To Read. The Person You Know Best In This World Is You. Listen To Yourself. If You Are Excited By What You Are Writing, You Have A Much Better Chance Of Putting That Excitement Over To A Reader.

My Books Happen. They Tend To Blast In From Nowhere, Seize Me By The Throat, And Howl 'write Me! Write Me Now!' But They Rarely Stand Still Long Enough For Me To See What And Who They Are, Before They Hurtle Away Again. And So I Spend A Lot Of Time Running After Them, Like A Thrown Rider After An Escaped Horse, Saying 'wait For Me! Wait For Me!' And Waving My Notebook In The Air.

...like A Grain Of Sand That Gets Into An Oyster's Shell. What If The Grain Doesn't Want To Become A Pearl? Is It Ever Asked To Climb Out Quietly And Take Up Its Old Position As A Bit Of Ocean Floor?