What A Gift Of Grace

Sometimes You Need To Give People Something That's For Them, Not Just Something That Makes You Feel Good Giving It.

I Cannot, Will Not, Withhold From My Young Readers The Harsh Realities Of Human Hunger And Suffering And Loss, But Neither Will I Neglect To Plant That Stubborn Seed Of Hope That Has Enabled Our Race To Outlast Wars And Famines And The Destruction Of Death.

This Is What Art Is All About. It Is Weaving Fabric From The Feathers You Have Plucked From Your Own Breast. But No One Must Ever See The Process - Only The Finished Bolt Of Goods. They Must Never Suspect That That Crimson Thread Running Through The Pattern Is Blood.

A Good Story Is Alive, Ever Changing And Growing As It Meets Each Listener Or Reader In A Spirited And Unique Encounter, While The Moralistic Tale Is Not Only Dead On Arrival, It's Already Been Embalmed. It's Safer That Way. When A Lively Story Goes Dancing Out To Meet The Imagination Of A Child, The Teller Loses Control Over Meaning. The Child Gets To Decide What The Story Means.

On Decoration Day, While Everyone Else In Town Was At The Cemetery Decorating The Graves Of Our Glorious War Dead, Willie Beaner And Me, Robert Burns Hewitt, Took Mabel Cramm's Bloomers And Run Them Up The Flagpole In Front Of The Town Hall. That Was The Beginning Of All My Troubles.