The Telling Of Stories Creates

Life Happened Because I Turned The Pages.

At One Magical Instant In Your Early Childhood, The Page Of A Book—that String Of Confused, Alien Ciphers—shivered Into Meaning. Words Spoke To You, Gave Up Their Secrets; At That Moment, Whole Universes Opened. You Became, Irrevocably, A Reader.

Through Ignorance, Through Faith, Through Intelligence, Through Trickery And Cunning, Through Illumination, The Reader Rewrites The Text With The Same Words Of The Original But Under Another Heading, Re-creating It, As It Were, In The Very Act Of Bringing It Into Being.

Deserted Libraries Hold The Shades Of Writers Who Worked Within, And Are Haunted By Their Absence.

The Listeners Who Buy Books After A Reading Multiply That Reading; The Author Who Realizes That He Or She May Be Writing On A Blank Page But Is At Least Not Speaking To A Blank Wall May Be Encouraged By The Experience, And Write More.