Our Worst Pain Is Confined Within Our

The Sixties Were Different In An Isolated Place. We Got Two Television Channels If The Wind Was Blowing In The Right Direction. The Radio Stations Went Off At Sundown. Then You Picked Up Chicago And Heard The Teenage Music You Really Yearned For.

What You Have Lost Will Not Be Returned To You; It Always Be Lost. You’re Left With Only Your Scars To Mark The Void. All You Can Choose To Do Is Go On, Or Not. But If You Go On, It’s Knowing You Carry Your Scars With You.

Hardboiled Crime Fiction Came Of Age In Black Mask Magazine During The Twenties And Thirties. Writers Like Dashiell Hammett And Raymond Chandler Learnt Their Craft And Developed A Distinct Literary Style And Attitude Toward The Modern World.

Or Maybe It Is Only That We Are So Habitually Inattentive That When Some Rare But Simple Geometry Grabs Us By The Shoulders And Shakes Us Into Consciousness, We Call Our Response Sacred.

While Writing Cold Mountain, I Held Maps Of Two Geographies, Two Worlds, In My Mind As I Wrote. One Was An Early Map Of North Carolina. Overlaying It, Though, Was An Imagined Map Of The Landscape Jack Travels In The Southern Appalachian Folktales. He's Much The Same Jack Who Climbs The Beanstalk, Vulnerable And Clever And Opportunistic.