Time gives a novel to every author.  The pages are pure, white, blank, innocent and free from memories or the poisoning temptations of the world.  Time has a way of filling those pages and keeping the author chained to the bindings, never to be cut lose until time finishes the last chapter and writes the closing words, ‘The End.’  That once so clean book is covered page to page with writing, stains, worn edges, mistakes, miss typed passages, and frayed bindings; Time wrote it all down.  Those once beautifully clean pages are now marred with slander and symbols, and can never be forgotten.  The author can wish that pages be torn out or to rewrite a couple paragraphs, but Time can not undo the words the author has written.  The author writes what Time gives; giving the Author and Time a bittersweet bond.  The novel grows with Time, and the Author changes as the pages fill.  The last couple pages summarize what Time gave the Author.  The Author looks back at chapters of the novel he worked his whole life to fill and can see the sprawling words, the stains, worn pages, spills, rips, tears, running ink, the emotion and wisdom.  After the auther has closed the book, Time signs it with ‘The End.’