I've Spent My Life Supporting Myself.

When I Lived In New York, Not Only Did I Have Safety Locks On The Door But I Had The Music Going, Keeping The City At A Distance, Trying To Find Creative Time And Peace And So Forth.

I've Spent My Life Supporting Myself.

I Am Not Alone In Bearing Grudges Against Reviewers Who Have Doomed A Book's Chances Because They've Missed The Point, The Tone, Everything.

The Admiration Of Another Writer’s Work Is Almost In Inverse Proportion To Similarities In Style.

It's Not About Having Things Figured Out, Or About Communicating With Other People, Trying To Make Them Understand What You Understand. It's About A Chicken Dinner At A Drive-in. A Soft Pillow. Things That Don't Need Explaining.