The Images, The Language, Of Pornography, And

What She Wants To Do If She Can Get The Time To Do It, Is Not So Much To Live In The Past As To Open It Up And Get One Good Look At It".

For Years And Years I Thought That Stories Were Just Practice, Till I Got Time To Write A Novel.

She Was Learning, Quite Late, What Many People Around Her Appeared To Have Known Since Childhood That Life Can Be Perfectly Satisfying Without Major Achievements.

As A Matter Of Fact She Does Not Know To This Day If Those Words Were Spoken, Or If He Only Caught Her, Wound His Arms Around Her, Held Her So Tightly, With Such Continual, Changing Pressures That It Seemed More Than Two Arms Were Needed, That She Was Surrounded By Him, His Body Strong And Light, Demanding And Renouncing All At Once, As If He Was Telling Her She Was Wrong To Give Up On Him, Everything Was Possible, But Then Again That She Was Not Wrong, He Meant To Stam Himself On Her And Go.

Usually, I Have A Lot Of Acquaintance With The Story Before I Start Writing It. When I Didn't Have Regular Time To Give To Writing, Stories Would Just Be Working In My Head For So Long That When I Started To Write I Was Deep Into Them. Now, I Do That Work By Filling Notebooks.