We are not quite novels. We are not quite short stories. In the end, we are collected works

It's hard to believe. Where does the times go?' Betty sighs. 'I've always hated that phrase. It makes it would like time went on a holiday, and is expected back any day now. Time flies is another one I hate. Apparently, time does quite a bit of traveling, though.

The casualities seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to love her all over again.

Hi there," squeaked a precocious little voice, "you are speaking to Chloe Fusakawa, and I have just learned how to answer the phone.

Win walked over to me. He held out his palm. In the middle of it was a single black sequin from the dress Scarlet had lent me. "You lost this," he said. I giggled, slightly embarrassed to be leaving bits of myself behind. "I'm shedding.

I don't believe in writer's block.

People are capable of great, great change during the span of one lifetime. And women even more than men.