The More You Read, The Less Apt

...writing Fiction...is No Job For Intellectual Cowards.

Tell Him He's Wrong. Tell Him That Even If He's Right About Waiting, He's Right For The Wrong Reasons, And That Makes Him All The Way Wrong.

The Man In Black Fled Across The Desert, And The Gunslinger Followed.

I Was In Enough To Get Along With People. I Was Never Socially Inarticulate. Not A Loner. And That Saved My Life, Saved My Sanity. That And The Writing. But To This Day I Distrust Anybody Who Thought School Was A Good Time. Anybody.

As Always, The Blessed Relief Of Starting, A Feeling That Was Like Falling Into A Hole Filled With Bright Light. As Always, The Glum Knowledge That He Would Not Write As Well As He Wanted To Write. As Always The Terror Of Not Being Able To Finish, Of Accelerating Into A Brick Wall. As Always, The Marvelous Joyful Nervy Feeling Of Journey Begun.