I've Written All That I've Wanted To

For The Record, Prejudices Can Kill, And Suspicion Can Destroy, And A Thoughtless Frightened Search For A Scapegoat Has A Fallout All Its Own For The Children, And The Children Yet Unborn. And The Pity Of It Is That These Things Cannot Be Confined To The Twilight Zone.

I Don't Know What My Friends Do. Generally They Become Producers. That Way They Can Stop Writing!

Ideas Come From The Earth. They Come From Every Human Experience That You’ve Either Witnessed Or Have Heard About, Translated Into Your Brain In Your Own Sense Of Dialogue, In Your Own Language Form. Ideas Are Born From What Is Smelled, Heard, Seen, Experienced, Felt, Emotionalized. Ideas Are Probably In The Air, Like Little Tiny Items Of Ozone.

The Tools Of Conquest Do Not Necessarily Come With Bombs And Explosions And Fallout. There Are Weapons That Are Simply Thoughts, Attitudes, Prejudices . . . . And The Pity Of It Is That These Things Cannot Be Confined To The Twilight Zone.

Why Do I Write? I Guess That's Been Asked Of Every Writer. I Don't Know. It Isn't Any Massive Compulsion.