I try hard and aim big. People can hate or love my books but they can never accuse me of not trying.
She kept watching the words.
When she came to write her story, she would wonder when the books and the words started to mean not just something, but everything.
Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness.
And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.
My voice is like a rumour. I'm not sure if it came out or not, or if it is true.