fiction

All it takes, is one leap of faith.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof.

I think the idea that we have anything to begin with is a lie we tell ourselves every day until we believe it. I think the law is there to enforce fictions that would not exist otherwise. Certain laws prevent us from deviating from those fictions, and thrive as a framework for the lifestyle we are all required to live. I believe that the reason possession is nine-tenths of the law is that without those laws there wouldn__ be any possession at all.

Novelists congratulate themselves on their creation of this kind of __haracter_ or that kind of __haracter,_ and readers pretend to talk knowingly about __haracter,_ but all it amounts to is that the writers are enjoying themselves writing lies and the readers are enjoying themselves reading lies. In fact, there is no such thing as character, something fixed and final. The real thing is something that novelists don__ know how to write about. Or, if they tried, the end result would never be a novel. Real people are strangely difficult to make sense out of. Even a god would have his hands full trying.

Imagination is highly suspect. Reality is what is beautiful. But we are blind to it because it is familiar.

...to use the little kick of energy which opposition supplies to be more vigorously oneself.

Novels are fictions and therefore they tell lies, but through those lies every novelist attempts to tell the truth about the world.

Remember Whose You Are.

The more I learn about life and people, the more I realise that everyone has a story and everyone__ story is the biggest in their own mind._ - Laylla Jonson

You, my reader, who see me close, wonder about my heartbeats and measure my words, you my close friend who know my eyes and the home of their prose, you, my only lover, who always move my life, my poetry's pace and rhyme,...I can not disclose the shape of metaphors, nor what they bashfully display behind the robes of their naked source; but you can use the eyes of heart to feel what they are made of. And if it's a tear or a smile I evoke, it means we are human, it means we care and we love. It means we are both beautiful. (Soar)

Suddenly, a voice called from the darkness. Taylor leapt like a salmon, then became rooted to the spot like a tin of salmon.

His only real financial failure came at the age of thirteen, when in an uncharacteristic error of judgement he invested £200,000 of his own savings in wooden socks, an invention that never caught on as he had hoped.

Conventional wisdom may not be wise.Good fortune and bad luck do not exist.Freedom of choice is predetermined.Don__ believe anything you read!

A large piece of lead floated out of Bobby head, followed by dark chunks of what could only be pieces of Bobby's brain.The torrent started up again. It flowed steady rather than pulsed with his heart. I knew from that, and from the amount of blood, that it was that mofo vein bleeding. And probably more than a small tear if the amount of blood was telling. I thought there had to be a hole the size of Montana in that thing."Jesus Mother Mary" I said, then "Stitch!"The scrub tech slapped a needle holder into my palm, a curved needle and silk stitch clamped into the end of it. I might have closed my eyes__'ve been told I do that sometimes in surgery when I'm trying to visualize something__hough if so I don't remember doing it. I took that needle and aimed it into the pool of blood."Suck here Joe, right here."When I thought I could see something, something gray and not black red, I plunged the pointy end of the needle through whatever the visible tissue was and looped it out again. I cinched it down and tied it quick, then repeated the maneuver again after adjusting slightly for lighting, sweating, my own bounding heartbeat, and the regret I wasn't wearing my own diaper.We're losing, I thought.

Many great people had been considered to be boring, like Nigel Mansell, but anyone who had read the racing driver__ autobiography, "Clutch Down, Dick Out", would know that perception was way off the mark.

Every minute I decide not to kill you is a minute your life is saved. You owe me everything.

What would you like for your own life, Kate, if you could choose?___nything?___f course anything.___hat__ really easy, Aunty Ivy.___o on then.___ straw hat...with a bright scarlet ribbon tied around the top and a bow at the back. A tea-dress like girls used to wear, with big red poppies all over the fabric. A pair of flat, white pumps, comfortable but really pretty. A bicycle with a basket on the front. In the basket is a loaf of fresh bread, cheese, fruit oh...and a bottle of sparkly wine, you know, like posh people drink. ____ cycling down a lane. There are no lorries or cars or bicycles. No people _ just me. The sun is shining through the trees, making patterns on the ground. At the end of the lane is a gate, sort of hidden between the bushes and trees. I stop at the gate, get off the bike and wheel it into the garden.__n the garden there are flowers of all kinds, especially roses. They__e my favourite. I walk down the little path to a cottage. It__ not big, just big enough. The front door needs painting and has a little stained glass window at the top. I take the food out of the basket and go through the door. __nside, everything is clean, pretty and bright. There are vases of flowers on every surface and it smells sweet, like lemon cake. At the end of the room are French windows. They need painting too, but it doesn__ matter. I go through the French windows into a beautiful garden. Even more flowers there...and a veranda. On the veranda is an old rocking chair with patchwork cushions and next to it a little table that has an oriental tablecloth with gold tassels. I put the food on the table and pour the wine into a glass. I__ sit in the rocking chair and close my eyes and think to myself... this is my place.__rom A DISH OF STONES

When you turn around, you'll see something I bet you've never seen before. If it takes your breath away, then you'll fit in nicely. If you don't feel anything, then maybe you don't belong here.