Telling some stories, Miss Leroy says, is committing suicide.

Alternating the thoughtful task of writing with the mindless work of laundry or dish washing will give you the breaks you need for new ideas and insights to occur. If you don't know what comes next in the story... clean your toilet. Change the bed sheets. For Christ sakes, dust the computer. A better idea will come.

Really, just looking around, you feel a twinge of pity for the poor souls who succeeded in getting past the Pearly Gates. One can't help but picture the lackluster VIP lounge in Heaven, a kind of nonalcoholic ice-cream social starring Harriet Beecher Stowe and Mahatma Gandhi. Hardly anyone's idea of a "with-it" social register.

She's not wearing makeup so her face just looks like skin.

Where would Jesus be if no one had written the gospels?

I am the child of a lunatic. Not a child of God.

Just for the record, the weather today is increasing turmoil with a possible physical and emotional breakdown.