At 57, To Have A No. 1

I Have Never Cared About Setting World Records, Or Filling My Boat With Fish, Or, For That Matter, Even Catching Fish. I Go For The Experience Of Spending Six Hours In The Arms Of The Ocean, Never Thinking Of A Single Thing Except Chasing Fish.

I've Always Found Drugs And Alcohol Somewhat Pedestrian. It's Like, I Don't Need An External Agent To Open My Mind. I'm Here, Conscious, Alert, Present. Why Would I Alter That?

I Remember The Excruciating School Task Of Writing A Three-page Term Paper. But, Oh, That Feeling When I Was Done! I Think I Drive Myself For That Feeling Of Accomplishment.

Grief Is Like The Wake Behind A Boat. It Starts Out As A Huge Wave That Follows Close Behind You And Is Big Enough To Swamp And Drown You If You Suddenly Stop Moving Forward. But If You Do Keep Moving, The Big Wake Will Eventually Dissipate. And After A Long Time, The Waters Of Your Life Get Calm Again, And That Is When The Memories Of Those Who Have Left Begin To Shine As Bright And As Enduring As The Stars Above.

And You Find As A Writer There Are Certain Spots On The Planet Where You Write Better Than Others, And I Believe In That. And New Orleans Is One Of Them.