I Felt Puny And Absurd, A Ludicrous

And, Before Science Had Caught Up With The Legend, The Legend Had Swallowed Science And Everything.

Failures Plagued Me. Things I Had Omitted Or Ignored, Neglected. What I Should Have Given And Hadn’t. I Felt The Biting Pang Of Every Unfulfillment.

In A Typical Desperation For Quick Answers, Easily Understood, People Had Turned To Primitive Worship As The Solution. With Less Than Success. Not Only Had They Died As Quickly As The Rest Of The People, But They Had Died With Terror In Their Hearts, With A Mortal Dread Flowing In Their Very Veins.

When I'm Writing, Especially When I'm Writing In First Person, I Don't Think About The Characterization, Or How They Are Going To Express Themselves, I Just Express My Own Approach To These Things. I Think Most Writers Can Never Divorce Themselves From Their Private Lives And Personas; They Are The Ones That Are Writing. And The More They Remove Themselves From Their Own Persona, The More, Perhaps, Mechanical The Work Becomes.

Let The Jagged Edge Of Sobriety Be Now Dulled.