We Are Creatures Of Story.

A Problem With A Piece Of Writing Often Clarifies Itself If You Go For A Long Walk.

The Human Longing For Story Is So Powerful, So Primitive, That It Seems Like Something Not Learned, But Locked Into Our Genes.

If The Garden Of Eden Really Exists It Does So Moment By Moment, Fragmented And Tough, Cropping Up Like A Fan Of Buddleia High Up In The Gutter Of A Deserted Warehouse, Or In A Heap Of Frozen Cabbages Becoming Luminous In The Reflected Light Of Roadside Snow.

Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still Doesn’t Work, Throw It Away.

Count Dracula Had Directed Me To Go To The Golden Krone Hotel, Which I Found, To My Great Delight, To Be Thoroughly Old-fashioned, For Of Course I Wanted To See All I Could Of The Ways Of The Country.