And It May Be That Love Sometimes

I Find It Satisfying And Intellectually Stimulating To Work With The Intensity, Brevity, Balance And Word Play Of The Short Story.

We Face Up To Awful Things Because We Can't Go Around Them, Or Forget Them. The Sooner You Get It Over With, The Sooner You Say 'yes, It Happened, And There's Nothing I Can Do About It,' The Sooner You Can Get On With Your Own Life. You've Got Children To Bring Up. So You've Got To Get Over It. What We Have To Get Over, Somehow We Do. Even The Worst Things.

Change Itself Is What Fascinates Me. I Am Drawn, As A Moth To The Flame, By Edge Situations, By Situations Of Metamorphosis.

I Didn't Have A Chance To Buy You Anything," She Said, Then Held Both Closed Hands Toward Him. Uncurled Her Fingers. In Each Cupped Palm A Brown Egg. He Took Them. They Were Cold. He Thought It A Tender, Wonderful Thing To Do. She Had Given Him Something, The Eggs, After All, Only A Symbol, But They Had Come From Her Hands As A Gift. To Him. It Didn't Matter That He'd Bought Them Himself At The Supermarket The Day Before. He Imagined She Understood Him, That She Had To Love Him To Know That It Was The Outstreched Hands, The Giving, That Mattered.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You.