I Measure My Life Out In Books."

Yes, Writing Is Essential To Me. It's My Way Of Living In The World.

It's The Strangest Thing About Being Human: To Know So Much, To Communicate So Much, And Yet Always To Fall So Drastically Short Of Clarity, To Be, In The End, So Isolate And Inadequate. Even When People Try To Say Things, They Say Them Poorly Or Obliquely, Or They Outright Lie, Sometimes Because They're Lying To You, But As Often Because They're Lying To Themselves.

I Was Funny -- Ha-ha, Not Peculiar. It Was A Modest Currency, Like Pennies: Pedestrian, Somewhat Laborious, But A Currency Nonetheless. I Was Funny, In Public, Most Often At My Own Expense.

I Always Thought I'd Get Farther. I'd Like To Blame The World For What I've Failed To Do, But The Failure - The Failure That Sometimes Washes Over Me As Anger, Makes Me So Angry I Could Spit - Is All Mine, In The End. What Made My Obstacles Insurmountable, What Consigned Me To Mediocrity, Is Me, Just Me. I Thought For So Long, Forever, That I Was Strong Enough -- Or I Misunderstood What Strength Was.

If I Had To Summarize, Most Broadly, My Concerns As A Writer, I'd Say The Question 'how Then Must We Live?' Is At The Heart Of It, For Me.