I Forced Myself To Picture The Last

She [my Mother] Was The Force Around Which Our World Turned. My Mother Was Propelled Through The Universe By The Brute Force Of Reason. She Was The Judge In All Our Arguments. One Disapproving Word From Her Was Enough To Send Us Off To Hide In A Corner, Where We Would Cry And Fantasize Our Own Martyrdom. And Yet. One Kiss Could Restore Us To Princedom. Without Her, Our Lives Would Dissolve Into Chaos.

All The Times I Have Suddenly Realized That My Parents Are Dead, Even Now, It Still Surprises Me, To Exist In The World While That Which Made Me Has Ceased To Exist

I Do Realize That The Reader Needs Some Form Of Resolution. Sometimes I Think Of It Almost Like Writing A Musical Score Where Things Have To Harmonize And Certain Lines Have To Come To A Close.

I Am Always Coming Up With Architectural Metaphors When I Think About Writing. But I Think One Of The Things That Draw Us To Literature Is That It Gives Us This Very Attractive Illusion That There Is Meaning In The World - Things Connect.

When I Got Older I Decided I Wanted To Be A Real Writer. I Tried To Write About Real Things. I Wanted To Describe The World, Because To Live In An Undescribed World Was Too Lonely.