There Are No Dead Ends,

I Didn't Get Fired." "you Didn't Punch Your Boss And Get Fired From The Tribune? That's What I Heard." "i Punched What Could Loosely Be Called A Colleague For Cribbing My Notes On A Story And Since The Editor–who Happened To Be The Asshole's Uncle–took His Word Over Mine, I Quit." "to Write Books. Is It Fun?" "i Guess It Is." "i Bet You Killed The Asshole In The First One You Wrote." "you'd Be Right. Beat Him To Death With A Shovel. Very Satisfying.

I'm Not Putting Up With This," She Continued. "you Can't Even Go Out And Buy A Solar System Without Worrying I'll Fall Apart. How Are You Supposed To Get Anything Done?" "actually, I'm Not In The Market For A Solar System Right At The Moment.

The Wounded Recognized The Wounded.

I Think She Was The Love Of His Life. When You've Got One Of Those, It Does Stuff To You. It Makes You Think About Them Even When You're Doing Routine Things. It Makes You Want To Protect Them, To Make Them Happy And Safe.

She Was Tough In The Best Sense Of The Word. She'd Taken Blows, The Disappointments, And Had Worked Her Way Through Them. Some People, He Knew, Would Have Buckled Under, Found A Clutch, Or Given Up. But She Had Carved A Place For Herself And Made It Work.