Shut Up And Write. Don't Talk About

You Live And Then You Die, I Thought. It's Good To Have Some Good Times.

I Write Because I Am Alone And Move Through The World Alone. No One Will Know What Has Passed Through Me... I Write Because There Are Stories That People Have Forgotten To Tell, Because I Am A Woman Trying To Stand Up In My Life... I Write Out Of Hurt And How To Make Hurt Okay; How To Make Myself Strong And Come Home, And It May Be The Only Real Home I'll Ever Have.

Our Bodies Are Garbage Heaps: We Collect Experience, And From The Decomposition Of The Thrown-out Eggshells, Spinach Leaves, Coffee Grinds, And Old Steak Bones Out Of Our Minds Come Nitrogen, Heat, And Very Fertile Soil. Out Of This Fertile Soil Bloom Our Poems And Stories. But This Does Not Come All At Once. It Takes Time. Continue To Turn Over And Over The Organic Details Of Your Life Until Some Of Them Fall Through The Garbage Of Discursive Thoughts To The Solid Ground Of Black Soil.

Oh, My Passion! That Is What Finally Carried Me Through. Let Passion Burn All The Way, Heating Up Every Layer Of The Psyche.

I Have Students That I Tell, "if Your Book Doesn't Sell Or You Can't Publish It, Write Another Book. Quit Sitting Around." The Publishing World Is A Business, But It's Not Any Big Deal. An Editor Is Not Your Guru. Your Agent Is Not Your Guru.