Hebrew Was Frozen, Like Frozen Peas, Fresh

Sometimes The Stories Are Smarter Than Me, And Suddenly These Things Start To Make Sense.

His Whole Body Was Completely Still, Except The Wings, Which Were Still Fluttering A Little, Like When Someone Dies. That's When He Finally Understood That Of All The Things The Angel Had Told Him, Nothing Was True. That He Wasn't Even An Angel, Just A Liar With Wings.

Apparently, I'm Very, Very Popular In Jails. They Often Ask Me To Come And Speak.

I Often Give This Metaphor Where I Say That Writing Short Fiction Is Like Surfing, While Writing A Novel Is Like Navigating With Your Car. So When You Navigate With Your Car, You Want To Get Somewhere. When You Surf, You Don't Want To Get Somewhere, You Just Don't Want To Fall Off Your Board.

I Never Know The Endings When I Write. It's A Turnoff When You Know The Ending. You Lose Much Of Your Incentive To Write When You Already Know. It's Like Seeing A Movie A Second Time.