Writers Seem To Me To Be People

At The Time It Seemed Like A Natural Development Of My Interest In What Was Going On Around Me In Society.

People Demand A Lot Of The Justice System And They Demand Things That It Can't Deliver.

I Suppose There Must Be Idiots Who Dream Of Signing Deals With Publishers While Fully Intending To Drink Martinis In Cool Bars Or Ride Around On Skateboards. But The Actual Writers I Know Are Experts In Neurotic Self-torture. Every Page Of Writing Is The Result Of A Thousand Tiny Decisions And Desperate Acts Of Will.

I'm Full Of Restlessness. Not Lonely, Exactly - My Head Is Racing With Ideas. But It Is That Old Treacherous Feeling That Real Life Is Happening Somewhere Else, And I'm Left Out.

Well, I'm At Some Kind Of Crossroads In My Life And I Don't Know Which Way To Take. It's Not About Money, I Mean, Because I'm Established Enough Now As A Writer To Get A Reasonable Advance If I Wanted To Do Fiction.