That's when we struggle, got it? Right there on the floor. It's not the brawl of the century, and I'm not the pilot who delivers the Enola Gay.

Mark’s outside mowing his lawn after dark again. I suspect this spate of nocturnal activity was occasioned by yet another dispute with our neighbor’s Mrs.

There were one hundred titles on the list. One hundred books that could neither be assigned nor put on a recommended reading list.

Bob’s thoughts drift back to bird, the solitary creature in the field, dignified, unhurried, waiting. Bob wonders where he goes; surely he will move on when spring gives way to summer.

Millie was a good woman, Bobby said. A good Christian woman. Well, I said, you can’t hold that against her.

Cat fight. I rush outside and swinging my trusty broom I charge the rolling yowling ball of black fur.

1. Poor grammar does not sleep. 2. We'll never finish every idea we have. 3. No matter how hard you try, you still might make it into my book

She persisted. “How long have we been here?” A note of anger crept into his voice. “How long? How long? Why …, why ….” He swallowed hard, realized he had forgotten.