Let's face it. No kid in high school feels as though they fit in.

The town kept its secrets, and the Marsten House brooded over it like a ruined king.

It's a hard life if you don't weaken.

What happens to the wide-eyed observer when the window between reality and unreality breaks and the glass begins to fly?

As infants, our first victory comes in grasping some bit of the world, usually our mother's fingers. Later we discover that the world, and the things of the world, are grasping us, and have been all along.

So where do the ideas-the salable ideas-come from? They come from my nightmares. Not the night-time variety, as a rule, but the ones that hide just beyond the doorway that separates the conscious from the unconscious.

Grammar is...the pole you grab to get your thoughts up on their feet and walking.