3. There Are Bears And There Are

For Years I Feared The Opening Of Every Elevator, Half-convinced That From The Opened Doors Would Come A Bullet, For Me, Shot By A Man In A Tan Trenchcoat. I Have No Idea Why I Feared This, Expected It To Happen. I Even Knew How I Would React To This Bullet Coming From The Elevator Door, What Word I Would Say. That Word Was: Finally.

I Don't Mean To Beat A Made-in-america Drum, But I Would Be Lying If I Said It Doesn't Feel Somehow Right To Be Printing Books In The U.s.

Live Long Enough And You'll Disappoint Everyone. People Think You're Able To Help Them And Usually You Can't. And So It Becomes A Process Of Choosing The One Or Two People You Try Hardest Not To Disappoint. The Person In My Life I Am Determined Not To Disappoint Is You.

I'm Never A Fan Of The Sociopathic Kind Of Reviewing, People Who Are Sort Of Self-immolating And Have Social Problems Or Whatever, And Let It Out In Literary-criticism Form. I Just Feel Like Book Reviewing Should Be Respectful And Calm And Not Filled With Bile.

My Parents Told Me They Were Going To Kill Me At Least A Thousand Times Growing Up. "i'm Gonna Kill You," And Then They'd Whack Me On The Side Of The Head Or Whatever. And "what's Wrong With You?" And "i'm Gonna Lock You Up," And "i'm Gonna Throw You Out The Window," And "i'm Gonna Kill You." You Know, All These Things That You Say In The Heat Of A Normal Chaotic Household.