Being a writer is a good, good thing.

And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.

She put a wedge beside my heart And then she brought the mallet down She sang no song to guide her work I lost my heart without a sound

Right now I'd like all my troubles to stand in front of me in a straight line, and one by one I'd give each a black eye.

I don't know how you persist in being so stubborn-" "It's a superpower. I was bitten by a radioactive mule.

The rewrites are a struggle right now. Sometimes I wish writing a book could just be easy for me at last. But when I think about it practically, I am glad it's a struggle. I am (as usual) attempting to write a book that's too hard for me. I'm telling a story I'm not smart enough to tell. The risk of failure is huge. But I prefer it this way. I'm forced to learn, forced to smarten myself up, forced to wrestle. And if it works, then I'll have written something that is better than I am.

What are you doing?" "Ya!" said Jane, whirling around, her hands held up menacingly. It was Mr. Nobley with coat, hat, and cane, watching her with wide eyes. Jane took several quick (but oh so casual) steps away from Martin's window. "Um, did I just say, 'Ya'?" "You just said 'Ya,'" he confirmed. "If I am not mistaken, it was a battle cry, warning that you were about to attack me. I, uh..." She stopped to laugh. "I wasn't aware until this precise and awkward moment that when startled in a startled in a strange place, my instincts would have me pretend to be a ninja.