I Am Free To Write The Worst

The First Thing Is How Awful Cancer Was, The Experience. When You First Go Through It, You're Just Trying To Survive. But When I Wrote About It, I Really Digested It. It Was Unbearable But I Had Practice Behind Me.

Too Often We Take Notes On Writing, We Think About Writing But Never Do It. I Want You To Walk Into The Heart Of The Storm, Written Words Dripping Off Hair, Eyelids, Hanging From Hands.

We Have To Look At Our Own Inertia, Insecurities, Self-hate, Fear That, In Truth, We Have Nothing Valuable To Say. When Your Writing Blooms Out Of The Back Of This Garbage Compost, It Is Very Stable. You Are Not Running From Anything. You Can Have A Sense Of Artistic Security. If You Are Not Afraid Of The Voices Inside You, You Will Not Fear The Critics Outside You.

I Wonder If I Don't Give Too Much Of Myself To Writing: I Am Always Half Where I Am; The Other Half Is Feeding The Furnace, Kick-starting The Heat Of Creativity. I Am Making Love With Someone But At The Same Time I'm Noticing How This Graceful Hand Across My Belly Might Just Fit In With The Memory Of Lilacs In Albuquerque In 1974.

Talk When You Talk, Walk When You Walk, And Die When You Die.