I Think Writers Are Very Anxious.

I'm Full Of Restlessness. Not Lonely, Exactly - My Head Is Racing With Ideas. But It Is That Old Treacherous Feeling That Real Life Is Happening Somewhere Else, And I'm Left Out.

At The Time It Seemed Like A Natural Development Of My Interest In What Was Going On Around Me In Society.

But I Can't Bear It When Somebody Who Some Man Made A Pass At - To Call That Violence Seems To Me Absurd And Insulting To Women Who've Really Met Violence, Who've Been Raped Or Bashed.

I Like Poking My Nose Into Other People's Lives.

I Think Writers Are Very Anxious.