It was adrenaline and restless sleep, being banished from the living room, overhearing the adults joking and wrapping. It was the feeling of flying, knowing you’d be safely caught.

This is how it REALLY is. Unfortunately.

Fiction readers do not want role models. They want to read about themselves. And no one is the antagonist in his own movie.

Nothing bad can happen to a writer.

Everything is material.

~~Philip Roth, novelist

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Whatever your story, whoever the players, the odds are good that the folks who saw your life unfold remember it completely differently.

When I think of the 2,996 individuals who died at WTC, I think of Sandy Brace — the only one I knew — and try to multiply that out. I can never do it; it’s too big. I try anyway. She was an acquaintance at Writing.com back when I was an angsty, teenaged writer. She wrote about her family, her cats, the loss of her mother, staring out her office window on one of the upper floors of the World Trade Center and dreaming of what she’d write next. The need to live before time runs out. Her time ran out way too quickly for way too little reason. RIP, Bandit’s Mama. I barely knew you, but I’ve never forgotten. * Sandy’s writing profile (last login on 9/7/01): http://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/view/sandybrace About her life, and the day before her last: http://memorial.mmc.com/pgBio.php?ID=30 Her 9/11 memorial page: http://www.legacy.com/toledoblade/sept11/Story.aspx?PersonID=119106&location=2 * From Sandy’s poem “Transformation”: As each of us grows ever older, we return to our childhood. We return to the fragility and softness of those early years. There, if we are lucky and search for it, we will find The sweet wonder of our growing time and memories That fill our throats with joy. We will feel again the...

Here are my silly little Americanized comparisons to show how big Bahrain REALLY is.