What He'd Never Understood About Men In

I Hate That Word Dysfunction.

He Watched A Catbird Hopping Around In An Azalea That Was Readying Itself To Bloom; He Envied The Bird For Knowing Nothing Of What He Knew; He Would Have Swapped Souls With It In A Heartbeat. And Then To Take Wing, To Know The Air's Buoyancy Even For An Hour: The Trad Was A No-brainer, And The Catbird, With Its Lively Indifference To Him, Its Sureness Of Physical Selfhood, Seemed Well Aware Of How Preferable It Was To Be The Bird.

It's Healthy To Say Uncle When Your Bone's About To Break.

The Place Of Stillness That You Have To Go To To Write, But Also To Read Seriously, Is The Point Where You Can Actually Make Responsible Decisions, Where You Can Actually Engage Productively With An Otherwise Scary And Unmanageable World.

I Think The Mission For The Writer Is To Tell Stories In A Compelling Way About The Stuff That Cannot Be Talked About, That Cannot Be Gotten At With Shallow Media.