They Minute People Fall In Love They

I Don't Mind You Thinking I'm Stupid, But Don't Talk To Me Like I'm Stupid.

There Is Harlan Ellison The Human Being, Who Takes A Crap A Couple Of Times A Day, And Who Farts, And Who Eats Chicken Croquettes, If I Can Find Them. And Then There Is The Writer, This Writer-person, Who Is A Much Finer Person Than I. Much More Orderly, Much More Meaningful. Worthier, Than I [am].

Any Writer Who Pretends To A Disaffection For Recognition, I Think They're Being Duplicitous.

With The Internet, The Greatest Disseminator Of Bad Data And Bad Information The Universe Has Ever Known, It's Become Impossible To Trust Any News From Any Source At All, Because It's Filtered Through This Crazy Yenta Gossip Line. It's Impossible To Know Anything.

It Is Not Merely Enough To Love Literature If One Wishes To Spend One's Life As A Writer. It Is A Dangerous Undertaking On The Most Primitive Level. For, It Seems To Me, The Act Of Writing With Serious Intent Involves Enormous Personal Risk. It Entails The Ongoing Courage For Self-discovery. It Means One Will Walk Forever On The Tightrope, With Each New Step Presenting The Possiblity Of Learning A Truth About Oneself That Is Too Terrible To Bear.