Under The Skin, Intense Fires Burn.

Growing Up, I'd Already Decided I Wanted To Be A Beatnik. A Bohemian Poet, I Thought. Or A Musician. Maybe An Artist. I'd Dress In Black Turtlenecks And Smoke Gitanes. I'd Listen To Cool Jazz In Clubs, Getting Up To Read Devastating Truths From My Notebook, Leaning Against The Microphone, Cigarette Dangling From My Hand.

Once Upon A Time There Was What There Was, And If Nothing Had Happened There Would Be Nothing To Tell.

There Are No Happy Endings... There Are No Endings, Happy Or Otherwise. We All Have Our Own Stories Which Are Just Part Of The One Story That Binds Both This World And Faerie. Sometimes We Step Into Each Others Stories - Perhaps Just For A Few Minutes, Perhaps For Years - And Then We Step Out Of Them Again. But All The While, The Story Just Goes On.

I've Always Believed The Lies We Use To Make Our Fictions Reveal The Truth With Far More Honesty Than Any History Or Herstory Or Life Story.

Let Me Give You Some Advice: Try To Approach Things Without Preconceived Ideas, Without Supposing You Already Know Everything There Is To Know About Them. Get That Trick Down And You'll Be Surprised At What's Really All Around You.