His Sister Liked To Think Of Herself

Ser Cleos Looked Like A Weasel, Fought Like A Goose, And Had The Courage Of An Especially Brave Ewe.

I Have A Hole Where My Heart Should Be, She Thought, And Nowhere Else To Go.

Drifting Snowflakes Brushed Her Face As Light As Lover’s Kisses, And Melted On Her Cheeks. At The Center Of The Garden, Beside The Statue Of The Weeping Woman That Lay Broken And Half-buried On The Ground, She Turned Her Face Up To The Sky And Closed Her Eyes. She Could Feel The Snow On Her Lashes, Taste It On Her Lips. It Was The Taste Of Winterfell. The Taste Of Innocence. The Taste Of Dreams.

One Of The Big Breakthroughs, I Think For Me, Was Reading Robert A. Heinlein's Four Rules Of Writing, One Of Which Was, 'you Must Finish What You Write.' I Never Had Any Problem With The First One, 'you Must Write' - I Was Writing Since I Was A Kid. But I Never Finished What Writing.

Explain To Me Why It Is More Noble To Kill Ten Thousand Men In Battle Than A Dozen At Dinner.