Habit Gives Endurance, And Fatigue Is The

Of Course, Every Time I End A Book, I Look Down At Myself And I'm Just The Same. I'm Always Disappointed That I'm Just The Same, But Not Enough To Never Do It Again!

I Can Write Anywhere. I Actually Wrote More Than I Ever Did When I Had Small Children. My Children Were Never A Hindrance.

The Space Between The Idea Of Something And Its Reality Is Always Wide And Deep And Dark. The Longer They Are Kept Apart—idea Of Thing, Reality Of Thing—the Wider The Width, The Deeper The Depth, The Thicker And Darker The Darkness.

I Come From A Little Island With The Caribbean Sea On One Side And The Atlantic Ocean On The Other. I Come From, Really, Nowhere, And For Me, The Fiction And The Nonfiction, Creative Or Otherwise, All Come From The Same Place.

All Of These Declarations Of What Writing Ought To Be, Which I Had Myself-though, Thank God I Had Never Committed Them To Paper-i Think Are Nonsense. You Write What You Write, And Then Either It Holds Up Or It Doesn't Hold Up. There Are No Rules Or Particular Sensibilities. I Don't Believe In That At All Anymore.