Would That Death Were Like This. Would

The Most Difficult Novel I Have Had To Write In Terms Of Just Getting It Done Was The Vampire Lestat. It Took A Year To Write.

I Was Typing Away While Everybody Was Dropping Acid And Smoking Grass. I Was Known As My Own Square.

There Is A Horrifying Loneliness At Work In This Time. No, Listen To Me. We Lived Six And Seven To A Room In Those Days, When I Was Still Among The Living. The City Streets Were Seas Of Humanity; And Now In These High Buildings Dim-witted Souls Hover In Luxurious Privacy, Gazing Through The Television Window At A Faraway World Of Kissing And Touching. It Is Bound To Produce Some Great Fund Of Common Knowledge, Some New Level Of Human Awareness, A Curious Skepticism, To Be So Alone.

Making A Film, I've Learned, Can Be An Exhausting Process, Due To The Need For Backing, Distribution, Etc.

It Was As If This Night Were Only One Of Thousands Of Nights, World Without End, Night Curving Into Night To Make A Great Arching Line Of Which I Couldn’t See The End, A Night In Which I Roamed Alone Under Cold, Mindless Stars.