Everyone, Real Or Invented, Deserves The Open

I'm Really Sorry For People Growing Up Right Now, Because They Have Some Cockeyed Idea That They Can Get By With Their Eyes Closed; The Cane They're Tapping Is Money, And That Won't Take Them In The Right Direction.

When I Was About Twenty-one, I Published A Few Poems. Maybe I Wrote A Couple Of Stories Before, But I Really Began To Write Stories In My Mid-thirties. My Kids Were Still Little, And They Were In School And Day Care, And I Had Begun To Think A Lot About Wanting To Tell Some Stories And Not Being Able To Do It In Poetry.

Sometimes You Find That What Is Most Personal Is Also What Connects You Most Strongly With Others.

I Was A Fantastic Student Until Ten, And Then My Mind Began To Wander.

My Mother Went To Demonstrations. I Remember Her Going To A Big Demonstration For Earl Brower And She Came Home Crying And Said The Communists Were Very Mean And Booed Their People. I Remember Feeling Sad At Her Feeling Sad.