Ten Years, She's Dead, And I Still

Most Great Writers Suffer And Have No Idea How Good They Are. Most Bad Writers Are Very Confident. Be Willing To Be A Child And Be The Lilliputian In The World Of Gulliver, The Bat Girl In Yankee Stadium. That’s A More Fruitful Way To Be.

Ten Years, She's Dead, And I Still Find Myself Some Mornings Reaching For The Phone To Call Her. She Could No More Be Gone Than Gravity Or The Moon.

But I'm Not Ready To Stop Listening To The Screwed-up Inner Voice That's Been Ordering Me Around For A Lifetime. My Head Thinks It Can Kill Me... And Go On Living Without Me.

The Truth Is When I Went To Graduate School I Would've Said I Was Among The Least Talented Of The Students, I Was Certainly The Least Smart, Or Less Educated. But I Worked Very Hard.

The Voice Of God Does Not Pander, Offers No Five-year Plan, No Long-term Solution, Nary An Edict. It Is Small & Fond & Local. Don't Look For Your Initials In The Geese Honking Overhead Or To See Thru The Glass Even Darkly. It Says The Most Obvious Crap - Put Down That Gun, You Need A Sandwich.