Sometimes Stories Cry Out To Be Told

Life Is Like A Wheel. Sooner Or Later, It Always Come Around To Where You Started Again.

A Friend Came To Visit James Joyce One Day And Found The Great Man Sprawled Across His Writing Desk In A Posture Of Utter Despair. James, What’s Wrong?' The Friend Asked. 'is It The Work?' Joyce Indicated Assent Without Even Raising His Head To Look At His Friend. Of Course It Was The Work; Isn’t It Always? How Many Words Did You Get Today?' The Friend Pursued. Joyce (still In Despair, Still Sprawled Facedown On His Desk): 'seven.' Seven? But James… That’s Good, At Least For You.' Yes,' Joyce Said, Finally Looking Up. 'i Suppose It Is… But I Don’t Know What Order They Go In!

Writers Write. That's All It Is. It Is As Simple, And As Complex, As That.

I Guess When You Turn Off The Main Road, You Have To Be Prepared To See Some Funny Houses.

Sooner Or Later Even The Fastest Runners Have To Stand And Fight.