Fetching Objects For People Who Are Too

Do The Scary Thing First, And Get Scared Later.

I'd Written My First Novel For Adults, Which Was Called Basic Eight And Was Set In A High School, And We Were Having A Devil Of A Time Selling It. It Ended Up In The Hands Of An Editor Of A Children's Publishing House, For Which It Was Entirely Inappropriate. She Said, "well, We Can't Publish This, But I Think You Should Write Something For Children," Which I Thought Was A Really Terrible Idea.

Sometimes Words Are Not Enough. There Are Some Circumstances So Utterly Wretched That I Cannot Describe Them In Sentences Or Paragraphs Or Even A Whole Series Of Books.

I Am Certain That Over The Course Of Your Own Life, You Have Noticed That People's Rooms Reflect Their Personalities. In My Room, For Instance, I Have Gathered A Collection Of Objects That Are Important To Me, Including A Dusty Accordion On Which I Can Play A Few Sad Songs, A Large Bundle Of Notes On The Activities Of The Baudelaire Orphans, And A Blurry Photograph, Taken A Very Long Time Ago, Of A Woman Whose Name Is Beatrice. These Are Items That Are Very Precious And Dear To Me.

It Is Always Cruel To Laugh At People, Of Course, Although Sometimes If They Are Wearing An Ugly Hat It Is Hard To Control Yourself.