I Kept Waiting For Him To Lay

Life Is Just A Short Period Of Time In Which You Are Alive.

When You Publish A Book, It's The World's Book. The World Edits It.

The Thought Of The Novelist Lies Not In The Remarks Of His Characters Or Even In Their Introspection But In The Plight He Has Invented For His Characters - In The Juxtaposition Of Those Characters And In The Lifelike Ramifications Of The Ensemble They Make: Their Density, Their Substantiality, Their Lived Existence Actualized In All Its Nuanced Particulars, Is In Fact His Thought Metabolized.

Eventually The Writing Takes Time. What I Want To Do Is Get The Story Down And I Want To Know What Happens As I Write My Way Into The Knowledge Of The Story.

I’m Interested In What People Do With The Chaos In Their Lives And How They Respond To It, And Simultaneously What They Do With What They Feel Like Are Limitations. If They Push Against These Limitations, Will They Wind Up In The Realm Of Chaos, Or Will They Push Against Limitations And Wind Up In The World Of Freedom?