My Sentences Tend To Be Very Short

All The Times, All The Very Many Times, I Had Been Forced To Thwart And Stifle My Own Nature Seemed To Gather Together Then, In That Hot And Dismal Corridor. I Heard A Rushing Sound In My Head And Felt A Pressure In My Breast, Like Floodwaters Rising Behind A Flimsy Dike. Before I Knew I Did It, The Soup Bowl Was Rising In My Hand As If Elevated By Some Supernatural Force. Then, Its Yellow-gray Contents Were Running Down The Nurse's Pudgy Face.

I Can Always Write. Sometimes, To Be Sure, What I Write Is Crap, But It's Words On The Page And Therefore It Is Something To Work With.

'you've Got Mail!' Exclaims The Cheery Automaton At America Online. The Flag On The Mailbox Icon Waves Invitingly On My Computer Screen. For A Second, I'm 10 Years Old Again, Waiting For The Postman's Whistle To Slice The Stillness Of An Australian Afternoon.

I Think Probably The Scaredest I've Ever Been Was In Somalia. I Arrived There When The Episode That Became Known As 'black Hawk Down' Was Still Taking Place. The Americans Were Still Pinned Down Under Fire. And Everybody Else Was Basically Going The Other Way, And I Was The Only One Putting My Hand Up For A Flight In.

We Were Too Intelligent, Too Cynical For War. Of Course, You Don't Have To Be Stupid And Primitive To Die A Stupid, Primitive Death.