I Took My Writing Seriously, And It

Reality Must Prove Itself Again And Again To Questioners ... It Is The Fantasy Which Goes On Without Contradiction, Without Having To Prove Itself.

Pain ... After You've Lived With It Long Enough, Isn't Pain Anymore. It's Something Else.

You Meet A New Person, You Go With Him And Suddenly You Get A Whole New City...you Go Down New Streets, You See Houses You Never Saw Before, Pass Places You Didn't Even Know Were There. Everything Changes.

The Night ... It Is Filled With Bestial Watchmen, Trammeling The Extremities And The Interstices Of The Timeless City, Portents Fallen, Constellated Deities Plummeting In Ash And Smoke, Roaming The Apocryphal Cities, The Cities Of Speculation And Reconstituted Disorder, Of Insemination And Incipience, Swept Round With The Dark.

In A Very Real Way, One Writes A Story To Find Out What Happens In It. Before It Is Written It Sits In The Mind Like A Piece Of Overheard Gossip Or A Bit Of Intriguing Tattle. The Story Process Is Like Taking Up Such A Piece Of Gossip, Hunting Down The People Actually Involved, Questioning Them, Finding Out What Really Occurred, And Visiting Pertinent Locations. As With Gossip, You Can't Be Too Surprised If Important Things Turn Up That Were Left Out Of The First-heard Version Entirely; Or If Points Initially Made Much Of Turn Out To Have Been Distorted, Or Simply Not To Have Happened At All.