For 10 Or 11 Years, I Had

I Am A Trembling Mess From Hip To Knee. There Is A Terrible Heat, A Looseness In My Innards That Makes Me Want To Dig My Fists Between My Thighs. It Is A Confusing Feeling - Somewhere Between Diarrhoea And Sex - This Grief That Is Almost Genital.

I’m Really Lucky With The People Around Me. They Know Me, So They Don’t Confuse The Issues Really. They Know What A Book Is And They Know Who I Am And They Know The Difference Between The Two.

Writing Is Not My Problem, It Is My Solution.

I Have A Small Room To Write In. One Wall Is Completely Covered In Books. And I Face The Window With The Curtain Closed To Stop The Light Hitting The Computer.

When You Find Yourself Alone, Or In A Transition, You Dream More. These Are Also The Times When You Read Books.