Hope Sleeps In Our Bones Like A

There Are Obviously A Great Many Ways To Organize Some Fraction Of The Material In A Life.

I Think Having A Great Range Of Experiences In My Life Had Helped Me As A Writer, Particularly A Writer Of Fiction. I Have Known A Great Many Different Sorts Of People In Different Situations, And I Have A Notion How Very Well Of Badly People Can Behave In Times Of Stress Or Danger Or Violence.

Writing Is A Futile Attempt To Preserve What Disappears Moment By Moment. All That Remains Of My Mother Is What I Remember And What I Have Written For And About Her. Eventually That Is All That Will Remain Of [my Husband] And Me. Writing Sometimes Feels Frivolous And Sometimes Sacred, But Memory Is One Of My Strongest Muses. I Serve Her With My Words. So Long As People Read, Those We Love Survive However Evanescently. As Do We Writers, Saying With Our Life's Work, Remember. Remember Us. Remember Me.

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud.

I Said, I Like My Life. If Ihave To Give It Back, If Theytake It From Me, Let Me Onlynot Feel I Wasted Any, Let Menot Feel I Forgot To Love Anyonei Meant To Love, That I Forgotto Give What I Held In My Hands,that I Forgot To Do Some Littlepiece Of The Work That Wantedto Come Through.