Doors Lead To Things And

... People Who'd Led Dull And Blameless Lives Did Not Give Thanks For Second Chances.

She'd Slept Terribly The Night Before. The Room, The Bed, Were Both Comfortable Enough, But She'd Been Plagued With Strange Dreams, The Sort That Lingered Upon Waking But Slithered Away From Memory As She Tried To Grasp Them. Only The Tendrils Of Discomfort Remained.

No Two People Will Ever See Or Feel Things In The Same Way, Merry. The Challenge Is To Be Truthful When You Write. Don't Approximate. Don't Settle For The Easiest Combination Of Words. Go Searching Instead For Those That Explain Exactly What You Think. What You Feel.

She Either Confused Me With A Much Older Child Or Else She Glimpsed Deep Inside My Soul And Perceived A Hole That Needed Filling. I've Always Chosen To Believe The Latter. After All, It's The Librarian's One Sworn Purpose To Bring Books Together With Their One True Reader.

Round And Round The Questions Flew, Until Finally I Found Myself Standing At The Open Door Of A Bookshop. It’s Natural In Times Of Great Perplexity, I Think, To Seek Out The Familiar, And The High Shelves And Long Rows Of Neatly Lined-up Spines Were Immensely Reassuring. Amid The Smell Of Ink And Binding, The Dusty Motes In Beams Of Strained Sunlight, The Embrace Of Warm, Tranquil Air, I Felt That I Could Breathe More Easily.