I Grew Up In Seattle, But I

I'm Not An Urban Person.

How Could They Say That They Truly Loved Each Other? They Had Simply Grown Up Together, Been Children Together, And The Proximity Of It, The Closeness Of It, Had Produced In Them Love S Illusion. And Yet - On The Other Hand - What Was Love If It Wasn't This Instinct She Felt.

I Write Because Something Inner And Unconscious Forces Me To. That Is The First Compulsion. The Second Is One Of Ethical And Moral Duty. I Feel Responsible To Tell Stories That Inspire Readers To Consider More Deeply Who They Are.

What Some People Interpret As Brooding Melancholy Is Serenity. I Don't Feel Required To Grasp All The Time.

Post-modernism Is Dead Because It Didn't Address Human Needs.