Without My Wounds, Who Was I? My

How Easy I Was. Like A Limpet I Attached Myself To Anything, Anyone Who Showed Me The Least Attention.

Only Peons Made Excusses For Themselves She Taught Me. Never Apologize, Never Explain.

Love Is A Check, That Can Be Forged, That Can Be Cashed. Love Is A Payment That Comes Due.

It's Their Skins I'm Peeling," She Said. "the Skins Of The Insipid Scribblers, Which I Graft To The Page, Creating Monsters Of Meaninglessness.

My House Is Modern, But I Like My Writing Room To Be Old Fashioned. I Write On A Little Wooden Secretary Desk.