I had yet to be a mother, but I would have thought it difficult to forget something it took thirty-seven hours of excruciating pain to push out from between my legs ~Charley Davidson

Writing is transcendental. It is a form of expression, a form of art that you can take anywhere. That you can do anywhere. It poses the deepest questions in the universe. It generates emotion. It elicits empathy, promotes learning, creates an intellect you simply cannot get from any other medium. For me, it is air.

I have them a few minutes to absorb everything while I teased Ubie, who only had to recover from his near-death experience. I was so glad Reyes hadn't ripped him to shreds. I liked him much better un-shredded. Unlike, say, my preference for lettuce or heavy metal guitar solos.

While I was busy reminiscing about my first day on earth, I had forgotten that I was falling to my death. Damned ADD.

My prodding me didn't elicit a reaction. His unseeing eyes stared straight through me. Which was odd. He'd seemed so sane huddled in Cookie's trunk.

I did that thing where you scratch your eyebrow and flip someone off at the same time. I'm good at multitasking like that.

I often question my sanity. Occasionally, it replies.