And Silence Of The Lambs Is A

I'd Be Surprised If Non-fiction Writers Hate To Be Interviewed. We All Hate Them, Because There's Really Nothing To Say Except "read The Book." Right? At Least With Non-fiction, You Can Kind Of Convey Some Information, And People Can Decide For Themselves Whether They Want More Of That Kind Of Information. But With A Novel, What Am I Going To Do?

It Offended His Sense Of Himself, Because He Was An Individual From An Age Of Individuals, And A String Of Lights Was, Like Him, An Individual Thing. No Matter How Little The Thing Had Cost, To Throw It Away Was To Deny Its Value.

You Could Slap His Wrist For Saying It, But Then He Said It With His Face, And You Could Spank Him For Making Faces, But Then He Said It With His Eyes, And There Were Limits To Correction-no Way, In The End, To Penetrate Behind The Blue Irises And Eradicate A Boy's Disgust.

What He'd Never Understood About Men In His Position, In All The Books He'd Read And Movies He'd Seen About Them, Was Clearer To Him Now: You Couldn't Keep Expecting Wholehearted Love Without, At Some Point, Requiting It. There Was No Credit To Be Earned For Simply Being Good.

I Used To Think It Was Hard To Write, And I Still Find The Process More Or Less Unpleasant, But If I Know What I'm Doing It Rattles Along, Then The Rewrite Whips It Into Shape Rather Quickly.