I Think There's Just One Kind Of

My Book Had A Universal Theme. It's Not A "racial" Novel. It Portrays An Aspect Of Civilization, Not Necessarily Southern Civilization.

The Remainder Of My Schooldays Were No More Auspicious Than The First. Indeed, They Were An Endless Project That Slowly Evolved Into A Unit, In Which Miles Of Construction Paper And Wax Crayon Were Expended By The State Of Alabama In Its Well-meaning But Fruitless Efforts To Teach Me Group Dynamics.

Summer Was Our Best Season: It Was Sleeping On The Back Screeneed Porch In Cots, Or Trying To Sleep In The Treehouse; Summer Was Everything Good To Eat;it Was A Thousand Colors In A Parched Landscape.

Any Writer Worth His Salt Writes To Please Himself...it's A Self-exploratory Operation That Is Endless. An Exorcism Of Not Necessarily His Demon, But Of His Divine Discontent.

Folks Don't Like To Have Somebody Around Knowing More Than They Do.