As A Child I Assumed That When

Writing Helped To Have Jobs That Involved Running Around, Pushing Things Like Dish Carts And Wheelbarrows. It Would Be Hard To Sit At A Desk All Day, And Then Come To Sit At Another Desk. Also, It Helps To Abandon Hope. If I Sit At My Computer, Determined To Write A New Yorker Story I Won't Get Beyond The First Sentence. It's Better To Put No Pressure On It. What Would Happen If I Followed The Previous Sentence With This One, I'll Think. If The Eighth Draft Is Torture, The First Should Be Fun. At Least If You're Writing Humor.

Hugh Returned From His Trip, And Days Later I Still Sounded Like A Red Chinese Asking Questions About The Democratic Hinterlands. "and You Actually Saw People Smoking In Restaurants? Really! And Offices, Too? Oh, Tell Me Again About The Ashtrays In The Hospital Waiting Room, And Don't Leave Anything Out."

What Other People Call Dark And Despairing, I Call Funny.

I Wanted To Be A Visual Artist, But I Realized I Was More Affected By What I Read Than By What I Saw. I Would Go To A Show At A Museum And Look At A Painting And Say, 'oh I Wish I Owned That,' And That Would Be The End Of My Relationship With A Painting. With A Short Story I Would Read Or With An Author I Would Discover I Could Be Haunted. It Would Affect My Mood And Affect The Way That I Saw The World. I Thought, Wow, It Would Be Amazing To Be Able To Do That.

I'd Always Thought That I Understood This, But Lately I Realize That What I Call "understanding" Is Basically Just Fantasizing.