A terrific sadness swept over Jerry. As if somebody had died. The way he felt standing in the cemetry that day they buried his mother. And nothing you could do about it.

You seldom get a censorship attempt from a 14-year-old boy. It's the adults who get upset.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't trying to get something down on paper.

I had my bully, and it was excruciating. Not only the bully, but the intimidation I felt.

He was intrigued by the power of words, not the literary words that filled the books in the library but the sharp, staccato words that went into the writing of news stories. Words that went for the jugular. Active verbs that danced and raced on the page.

Why did the wise guys always accuse other people of being wise guys?

Do I dare disturb the universe? Yes, I do, I do. I think. Jerry suddenly understood the poster--the solitary man on the beach standing upright and alone and unafraid, poised at the moment of making himself heard and known in the world, the universe.