You Need To See A Bit Of

Randomness I Love. And I Still Love Just A Holler Right In The Middle Of An Ongoing Narrative. Pain Or Joy, Ecstasy.

The Alcohol Had The Code And Mystery About It As A Writer's Drug, But I'm Glad That's Been Debunked. But The Trouble With The Drinking, Much As I Hate To Admit It, Is It Helped The Work.

I Do Believe That As You Write More And Age, The Arrogance And Most Of The Vanity Goes. Or It Is A Vanity Met With Vast Gratitude, That You Were Hit By Something As You Stood In The Way Of It, That Anybody Is Listening.

I Found Out About Reviews Early On. They're Mostly Written By Sad Men On Bad Afternoons. That's Probably Why I'm Less Angry Than Some Writers, Who Are So Narcissistic They Consider Every Line Of Every Review, Even A Thoughtful One, As Major Treason.

I Grew Up When People Seemed Actually To Be Hurting Themselves For Their Art. Of Course, Some Of It Was Phony.