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Show His brow a l t e r n a t e l y k n i t t e d and smoothed. I went on. «The world thinks we're evil because they don't know - - they think we're animals, immoral. They don't know how dedicated fundamentalist Mormons a r e . Perhaps if they understood, if they knew how the P r i n c i p l e works. . .maybe then i t won't be so hard for the younger ones. . . . And the world needs to know what happens when people are exiled, especially when they're exiled for a l l the wrong r e a s o n s . . . ." He cleared his t h r o a t . "Don't expect the world to change it's mind. The devil is god of t h i s world, and he sees to it that the Lord's Chosen are persecuted. But in one thing you're absolutely right - the story must be told. We must stop fearing the consequences and lay the t r u t h before the world. And you are just the one to do i t ." I was astonished. I had been braced for his objections, his accusations, even. I would explain why I had to do i t, and then we would p a r t . I had hopedffor understanding, but I hadn't dreamed of his wholehearted approval, his blessing." I had never consciously' intended to t e l l him about my writing, thinking I wouldn't publish a word u n t i l long after his death, if then, thinking I would write like a prisoner or a monk, scratching out i n s i g n i f i c a n t record of a paling l i f e. "What w i l l you write?" I shuddered. "What I'm told t o . " It sounded coy. "I mean, I write from t h i s . . . i n s p i r a t i o n . . .when I c a n . . . " I shrugged. "I'm sorry, i t ' s hard to explain. I write about myself, about my p a s t , the family- Usually i t ' s fictionalized, but t h e r l ^ a6kind of t r u t h in i t - a t r u t h of message, a consistency of ideas and tone. But I've been playing with this notion that the r e a l facts hold gold-mines of truth. |