Writing Is Not Life, But I Think

Write With The Door Closed, Rewrite With The Door Open. Your Stuff Starts Out Being Just For You, In Other Words, But Then It Goes Out. Once You Know What The Story Is And Get It Right — As Right As You Can, Anyway — It Belongs To Anyone Who Wants To Read It. Or Criticize It.

Maybe There's A Whole Other Universe Where A Square Moon Rises In The Sky, And The Stars Laugh In Cold Voices, And Some Of The Triangles Have Four Sides, And Some Have Five, And Some Have Five Raised To The Fifth Power Of Sides. In This Universe There Might Grow Roses Which Sing. Everything Leads To Everything.

He Killed Them With Their Love.

The Only Mortal Sin Is Giving Up.

About Halfway Through I Broke Down Crying, Which I Hadn't Expected. I Was A Little Ashamed, But Only A Little;it Was Her, You See, And She Never Taxed Me With The Times That I Slipped From The Way I Thought A Man Should Be...the Way I Thought I Should Be, At Any Rate. A Man With A Good Wife Is The Luckiest Of God's Creatures, And One Without Must Be Among The Most Miserable, I Think, The Only True Blessing Of Their Lives That They Don't Know How Poorly Off They Are.