You Can't Make Any One

But As I Lay There, It Only Seemes Like Silence Filling My Ears. And The Thing Was, It Was So Freaking Loud.

But She Wouldn't. I Knew That Already. My Mother And I Had An Understanding: We Worked Together To Be As Much In Control Of Our Shared World As Possible. I Was Suposed To Be Her Other Half, Carrying My Share Of The Weight. In The Last Few Weeks, I'd Tried To Shed It, And Doing So Sent Everything Off Kilter. So Of Course She Would Pull Me Tighter, Keeping Me In My Place, Because Doing So Meant She Would Always Be Sure, Somehow, Of Her Own.

But There Was Only One Truth About Forever That Really Mattered, And That Was This: It Was Happening.

For Once, You Believed In Yourself. You Believed You Were Beautiful And So Did The Rest Of The World.

I Think My Biggest Problem, Though, At Least In Drafts, Is Not Repeating Myself. After Eight Books I Get Worried That A Character Or Piece Of Dialog Might Be Too Much Like Something I've Already Done. So It's A Challenge To Keep It Fresh.