I'm Still An English Professor At Rice

Sara Waited A Respectful Time, Knowing There Was Nothing She Could Do To Ease The Woman's Pain. Grief Was A Place, Sara Understood, Where A Person Went Alone. It Was Like A Room Without Doors, And What Happened In That Room, All The Anger And The Pain You Felt, Was Meant To Stay There, Nobody's Business But Yours.

On A Fading Summer Evening, Late In The Last Hours Of His Old Life, Peter Jaxon-son Of Demetrius And Prudence Jaxon, First Family; Descendent Of Terrence Jaxon, Signatory Of The One Law; Great-great-nephew Of The One Known As Auntie, Last Of The First; Peter Of Souls, The Man Of Days And The One Who Stood-took His Position On The Catwalk Above Main Gate, Waiting To Kill His Brother.

One Thing That Worried Me Was How Writers Get Categorized And So They End Up Having To Write The Same Kind Of Book Again And Again. That Is Fine If It Is What You Want To Do, But I Would Rather Be Locked In The Trunk Of My Car With A Weasel Than Write The Same Book Every Three Years Until I Die.

And I Had Always Liked Vampire Stories Because They Are Great Material That Can Be Refashioned In Lots Of Ways.

When You Write, You Take The Ball And You Hold It Up To The Light And You Turn It Slowly, And Let People Draw Their Own Conclusions. And Try To Bring Empathy To All Sides Of The Equation.