Grief, He Said, Is Carnivorous.

I Love To Write, So It Rarely Seems Like Work - Even When It Gets Arduous.

I Can't Remember Coming Across A More Precise Evocation Of Innocence Lost Since Golding's The Lord Of The Flies. With The Death Of Sweet Mister, Daniel Woodrell Has Written His Masterpiece-spare, Dark, And Incandescently Beautiful. It Broke My Heart.

The Loneliness Of Another Can Be Shocking When It Lays Itself Bare Without Warning.

My Daughter Squealed Again And Both Bubba And I Winced. It’s Not An Attractive Sound, That. It’s High-pitched And It Enters Your Ear Canals Like Hot Glass. No Matter How Much I Love My Daughter, I Will Never Love Her Squealing. Or Maybe I Will. Maybe I Do. Driving Down 93, I Realized Once And For All, That I Love The Things That Chafe. The Things That Fill Me With Stress So Total I Can’t Remember When A Block Of It Didn’t Rest On Top Of My Heart. I Love What, If Broken, Can’t Be Repaired. What, If Lost Can’t Be Replaced. I Love My Burdens.

And He Hated Himself And Hated Her,too, For The Ruin They'd Made Of Each Other.