I Am 82 Years Old. I Imagine

An Author Knows His Landscape Best; He Can Stand Around, Smell The Wind, Get A Feel For His Place.

I Know What I Write About Seems Exotic To A Lot Of People, But Not For Me. I Pulled Up To An Old Trading Post And Saw A Few Elderly Navajos Sitting On A Bench. I Felt Right At Home.

I Am 82 Years Old. I Imagine That I Will Keep On Writing As Long As Anyone Wants To Keep Reading.

Thoughts, And Words That Spring From Them, Bend The Individual's Reality. To Speak Of Death Is To Invite It. To Think Of Sorrow Is To Produce It.

The Essays In The Great Taos Bank Robbery Were My Project To Win A Master Of Arts Degree In English When I Quit Being A Newspaper Editor And Went Back To College.