A Sixty - Eight, He

I Lacked Some Essential Skill For Attracting People, For Giving And Receiving Love Easily. It Meant Too Much To Me. I Seemed To Be Driving Away The People I Most Wanted. Finally I Had Realized That Getting Someone To Love You Was Like Trying To Coax A Bird To Perch On Your Finger . . . It Wouldn't Happen Unless You Stopped Trying So Hard.

I Carry Thoughts Of You Like My Own Personal Constellation. How Far Away You Are, My Dearest Friend, But No Farther Than Those Fixed Stars In My Soul.

Sometimes The Closest-held Secrets In The World Can Be Pried Out By The Right Question At The Right Time.

There Is Something About You That Makes Me Feel Terribly Wicked. You Make Me Want To Do Shocking Things. Maybe It's Because You're So Proper. Your Necktie Is Never Crooked, And Your Shoes Are Always Shiny. And Your Shirts Are So Starchy. Sometimes When I Look At You, I Want To Tear Off All Your Buttons. Or Set Your Trousers On Fire. I've So Often Wondered-are You Ticklish, My Lord?

Before I Write The First Page Of A Novel, I Spend A Long Time Creating Detailed Backgrounds For My Characters. I Imagine The Experiences That Have Formed Them, What Makes Them Happy, Angry, Fearful, And What They Yearn For.