I Think I'm Succinct To The Point

In The Tale Of Despereaux, There Is A Lot Of Darkness, A Lot Of Despair. There's Also A Lot Of Light, Redemption, Hope. There's Forgiveness, There's Friendship, There's Love. But The World In All Of Its Potential Craziness Is Also There.

The Draft That Finally Goes To My Editor Doesn't Get Into Her Hands Until I Have Read It Out Loud Innumerable Times - Sometimes Into A Tape Recorder - To Make Sure That It Sounds Right.

Seasons Passed, Fall And Winter And Spring And Summer. Leaves Blew In Through The Open Door Of Lucius Clarke’s Shop, And Rain, And The Green Outrageous Hopeful Light Of Spring. People Came And Went, Grandmothers And Doll Collectors And Little Girls With Their Mothers. Edward Tulane Waited. The Seasons Turned Into Years. Edward Tulane Waited. He Repeated The Old Doll’s Words Over And Over Until They Wore A Smooth Groove Of Hope In His Brain: Someone Will Come; Someone Will Come For You.

During The Night, While Bull And Lucy Slept, Edward, With Ever-open Eyes, Stared Up At The Constellations. He Said Their Names, And Then He Said The Names Of The People Who Loved Him. He Started With Abilene, And Then Went On To Nellie And Lawrence And From There To Bull And Lucy, And Then He Ended Again With Abilene: Abilene, Nellie, Lawrence, Bull, Lucy, Abilene. See? Edward Told Pellegrina. I Am Not Like The Princess. I Know About Love.

I Read Whatever The Publisher Sends Me.