Unfortunately, we're using the same language to talk about the language we'retalking about.

Forgiveness is a little thing when love is there.

And oh I want so much to sing, I tell myself no. But it is so hard to keep from singing.

Or, in truth, eventually, though I still noticed, the callouses on my spirit prevented wounds (p.75).

Summer comes over the hill like a hairy blanket.

Unfortunately, we're using the same language to talk about the language we'retalking about.

Writing isn't just on the page; it's voices in the reader's head. Read what you write out loud to someone-anyone-and you will catch all kinds of things.