I Think That In Order To Write

Your Idea Of Bliss Is To Wake Up On A Monday Morning Knowing You Haven't A Single Engagement For The Entire Week. You Are Cradled In A White Paper Cocoon Tied Up With Typewriter Ribbon.

One Can Summon Courage And Fortitude To Face Tragedy; Irritations And Frustrations Are A Cloud Of Mosquitoes That Nip And Sting And Drive One Frantic.

The Ideal View For Daily Writing, Hour For Hour, Is The Blank Brick Wall Of A Cold-storage Warehouse. Failing This, A Stretch Of Sky Will Do, Cloudless If Possible.

Writing Is Not An Amusing Occupation. It Is A Combination Of Ditch-digging, Mountain-climbing, Treadmill And Childbirth.

Big Doesn't Necessarily Mean Better. Sunflowers Aren't Better Than Violets.