To Be Honest, The Only Thing I

Things Are Strongest Where They're Broken.

I've Seen Enough Successful Writers Who No Longer Seem To Care When They Are Recognized With An Award, And I Think That's Just Tragic.

In Winter The Very Ground Seemed To Reach Up And Grab The Elderly, Yanking Them To Earth As Though Hungry For Them.

The Women In The Room Chatted About Love, About Childhood, About Losing Parents, About Mr. Spock, About Good Books They'd Read. They Mothered Each Other.

I Was Tired Of Seeing The Graces Always Depicted As Beautiful Young Things. I Think Wisdom Comes With Age And Life And Pain. And Knowing What Matters.