Hardboiled Crime Fiction Came Of Age In

The Sixties Were Different In An Isolated Place. We Got Two Television Channels If The Wind Was Blowing In The Right Direction. The Radio Stations Went Off At Sundown. Then You Picked Up Chicago And Heard The Teenage Music You Really Yearned For.

Publishers Give You Deadlines For Those Last Phases Of Production That Are Perfectly Comfortable For Them. So, To Whatever Extent I Can, I Like To Push Those To Give Me A Little More Time, And Make It So That They're As Uncomfortable As I Am.

You Never Know When Somebody Will Pull You To Them.

That's Just Pain She Said. It Goes Eventually. And When It's Gone, There's No Lasting Memory. Not The Worst Of It Anyway. It Fades. Our Minds Aren't Made To Hold On To The Particulars Of Pain The Way We Do Bliss. It's A Gift God Gives Us, A Sign Of His Care For Us.

But I Believe The Words Entered Me And Changed Me And Still Work In Me. The Words Eat Me And Sustain Me. And When I'm Dead And In A Box In The Dark Dark Ground, And All My Various Souls Have Died And I Am Nothing But Insensible Bones, Something In The Marrow Will Still Feel Yearning, Desire Persisting Beyond Flesh.