In Life We Sit At The Table

Only Now That My Son Was Gone Did I Realize How Much I'd Been Living For Him. When I Woke Up In The Morning It Was Because He Existed, And When I Ordered Food It Was Because He Existed, And When I Wrote My Book It Was Because He Existed To Read It.

I Am Always Coming Up With Architectural Metaphors When I Think About Writing. But I Think One Of The Things That Draw Us To Literature Is That It Gives Us This Very Attractive Illusion That There Is Meaning In The World - Things Connect.

I Always Wrote Little Things When I Was Younger. My First Opus Was A Book Of Poems Put Down In A Spiral Notebook At Five Or Six, Handsomely Accompanied By Crayon Illustrations.

That Powers My Desire To Write: The Sense Of How Quickly Everything On The Surface Of Life Can Be Cut Away And You Can Suddenly Be Inside The Most Inner Part Of The Most Inner Life Of A Person. What Does It Feel Like There, And What Are The Regrets And Sensations And Longings, And What Is The Music Of It?

I'm Not Immune To The Readers' Desires. Sometimes They Are My Own, Because I'm A Reader, Too. The Readers' Desire To Know What Really Happened And What Didn't. To Have A Glimpse Into What's Really The Author And What Isn't. I Think We All Have That And I Wonder About What It Means.