Nobody Ever Dies Of An Indignity.

... Any Fictionis Bound To Be Transposed Autobiography.

There's Something So Showy About Desperation, It Takes Hard Wits To See It's A Grandiose Form Of Funk.

Memory Must Be Patchy; What Is More Alarming Is Its Face-savingness. Something In One Shrinks From Catching It Out - Unique To Oneself, One's Own, One's Claim To Identity, It Implicates One's Identity In Its Fibbing.

Dialogue Should Convey A Sense Of Spontaneity But Eliminate The Repetitiveness Of Real Talk.

Also, Perhaps Children Are Sterner Than Grown-up People In Their Refusal To Suffer, In Their Refusal, Even, To Feel At All.