I Am My Mother's Daughter,... I Am

The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

The Politics Of The Exile Are Fever, Revenge, Daydream, Theater Of The Aging Convalescent. You Wait In The Wings And Rehearse. You Wait And Wait.

The Art Of Fiction Is One Of Constant Seduction. You Must Persuade The Reader On Page 1 To Start Reading - On Page 50, Or Page 150 And Yes, On Page 850.

Long Hair Is Considered Bohemian, Which May Be Why I Grew It, But I Keep It Long Because I Love The Way It Feels, Part Cloak, Part Fan, Part Mane, Part Security Blanket.

Connections Are Made Slowly, Sometimes They Grow Underground.