What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks. Books. Not just one or two dozen, but hundreds of them. In crates. In piles on the floor. In bookcases that stretched from floor to ceiling and lined the entire room. I turned around and around in a slow circle, feeling as if I'd just stumbled into Ali Baba's cave. I was breathless, close to tears, and positively dizzy with greed.

I struggled for a long time to get anything published.

Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.

Turn away. From the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes and look at the light.

Only the hopeless love God.

Why do you write?' Because I love words and stories so much. Because I would be grief stricken every day of my life if I couldn't write. Because I'm obsessed and compelled. Because I'd be utterly useless at anything else.

Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.