I am tired of trying to hold things together that cannot be held.

How are you managing to keep everyone from aging?” Celia asks after a while. “Very carefully,” Marco answers.

The fact that people are already reading and loving something I wrote is still hard to believe.

Old stories have a habit of being told and retold and changed. Each subsequent storyteller puts his or her mark upon it. Whatever truth the story once had is buried in bias and embellishment. The reasons do not matter as much as the story itself.

It is likely to make us think we are not caged. We cannot feel the bars unless we push against them.

I am haunted by the ghost of my father, I think that should allow me to quote Hamlet as much as I please.

He reads histories and mythologies and fairy tales, wondering why it seems that only girls are ever swept away from their mundane lives on farms by knights or princes or wolves. It strikes him as unfair to not have the same fanciful opportunity himself. And he is not in the position to do any rescuing of his own.