“The voice of every kid hooked on drugs, alcohol or the occult joins the sad chorus “Not me! I didn’t think it could ever happen to me. I was sure I could handle it.”

“My only regret involved the sad knowledge that I could not handle the amount of alcohol I would have enjoyed. “Easy is the descent into Hell.”

“You were worried about me?” “Of course I was, buddy. I would never have forgiven myself if something had happened. You didn’t think I’d be worried about you?” “No. I didn’t think you cared.” Dad looks sad. And surprised. I’m not sure why. “Really, buddy? You didn’t think I cared?” “No.” “Well, I do. A lot.” “Okay.” “I guess I need to do a better job of showing you.” “Yes. You could do a better job.” Dad laughs. And he hugs me again.”

“I realized I could really become hooked on these happy pills. They gave me a glorious feeling of general well-being and didn't make me fat, like alcohol. I wondered if there was any harm in being addicted to only these.”

“I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I could have fought, but I didn’t. I just lay there and let it happen, watching the winter-white sky go gray above me.”

“I wrote a book. It sucked. I wrote nine more books. They sucked, too. Meanwhile, I read every single thing I could find on publishing and writing, went to conferences, joined professional organizations, hooked up with fellow writers in critique groups, and didn’t give up. Then I wrote one more book.”