Traditionally, The Love Of Reading Has Been

I Can No More Reread My Own Books Than I Can Watch Old Home Movies Or Look At Snapshots Of Myself As A Child. I Wind Up Sitting On The Floor, Paralyzed By Grief And Nostalgia.

With This Recitation Of Paraphernalia And Detritus, O'brien Manages To Encapsulate The Experience Of An Army And Of A Particular War, Of A Mined And Booby-trapped Landscape, Of Cold Nights And Hot Days, Of Soaking Monsoons And Rice Paddies, And Of The Possibility Of Being Shot, Like Ted Lavender, Suddenly And Out Of Nowhere: Not Only In The Middle Of A Sentence But In The Midst Of A Subordinate Clause.

I Waited For Dawn, But Only Because I Had Forgotten How Hard Mornings Were. For A Second I'd Be Normal. Then Came The Dim Awareness Of Something Off, Out Of Place. Then The Truth Came Crashing Down And That Was It For The Rest Of The Day. Sunlight Was Reproof. Shouldn't I Feel Better Than I Had In The Dead Of Night.

I Work Really Long Days And I Work Seven Day Weeks.

If Things Are Going Well I Can Easily Spend Twelve Hours A Day Writing, But Not Writing Writing, Just Thinking And Revising And Taking A Comma Out And Putting It Back In.