Busy As A One Legged Man In

There Is The Watchmaker Theory That God Wound Up The Universe And Let It Tick. That May Be. Or It May Be That He Takes A Hand In Things From Time To Time. But Whatever It Is, I Am Sure That There Is Something Out There.

A Critical Assumption Is Sometimes Made That [grisham, Clancey, Crichton & Myself] Have Access To Some Mystical Vulgate That Other (and Often Better) Writers Cannot Find Or Will Not Deign To Use. I Doubt If This Is True. Nor Do I Believe The Contention Of Some Popular Novelists... That Thier Success Is Based On Literary Merit -- That The Public Understands True Greatness In Ways The Tight-a**ed, Consumed-by-jealousy Literary Establishment Cannot. This Idea Is Ridiculous, A Product Of Vanity And Insecurity.

The King Is In His Tower, Eating Bread And Honey. The Breakers In The Basement, Making All The Money.

A Child Blind From Birth Doesn't Even Know He's Blind Until Someone Tells Him. Even Then He Has Only The Most Academic Idea Of What Blindness Is; Only The Formerly Sighted Have A Real Grip On The Thing. Ben Hanscom Had No Sense Of Being Lonely Because He Had Never Been Anything But. If The Condition Had Been New, Or More Localized, He Might Have Understood, But Loneliness Both Encompassed His Life And Overreached It.

Don't Wait For The Muse. As I've Said, He's A Hardheaded Guy Who's Not Susceptible To A Lot Of Creative Fluttering. This Isn't The Ouija Board Or The Spirit-world We're Talking About Here, But Just Another Job Like Laying Pipe Or Driving Long-haul Trucks. Your Job Is To Make Sure The Muse Knows Where You're Going To Be Every Day From Nine 'til Noon. Or Seven 'til Three. If He Does Know, I Assure You That Sooner Or Later He'll Start Showing Up.