Death Persecutes Before It Executes.

Imagine An American Hans Christian Andersen, Conceive Of The Brothers Grimm Living In Missouri, And You Will Approximate Howard Schwartz, A Fable-maker And Fable-gatherer Seduced By The Uncanny And The Unearthly. In Lilith's Cave, He Once Again Reaches Into A Magical Cornucopia Of Folklore And Fantasy And Spreads Before Us, In Enchanting Language, The Marvels And Shocks Of Dybbuks, Ghosts, Demons, Spirits, And Wizards.

One Must Avoid Ambition In Order To Write. Otherwise Something Else Is The Goal: Some Kind Of Power Beyond The Power Of Language. And The Power Of Language, It Seems To Me, Is The Only Kind Of Power A Writer Is Entitled To.

There's A Paradox In Rereading. You Read The First Time For Rediscovery: An Encounter With The Confirming Emotions. But You Reread For Discovery: You Go To The Known To Figure Out The Workings Of The Unknown, The Why Of The Familiar How.

The Engineering Is Secondary To The Vision.

I Wanted To Use What I Was, To Be What I Was Born To Be - Not To Have A 'career', But To Be That Straightforward Obvious Unmistakable Animal, A Writer.