If You’re Reading To Find Friends, You’re

Anyway, These Books I Love, They’re All Books By Men—every Last One Of Them. Because If It’s Unseemly And Possibly Dangerous For A Man To Be Angry, It’s Totally Unacceptable For A Woman To Be Angry. I Wanted To Write A Voice That For Me, As A Reader, Had Been Missing From The Chorus: The Voice Of An Angry Woman.

I Always Say To My Students, If You Can Do Anything Other Than Writing And Be Happy, Then You Should.

Nobody Would Know Me From My Own Description Of Myself; Which Is Why, When Called Upon (rarely, I Grant) To Provide An Account, I Tailor It, I Adapt, I Try To Provide An Outline That Can, In Some Way, Correlate To The Outline That People Understand Me To Have -- That, I Suppose, I Actually Have, At This Point. But Who I Am In My Head, Very Few People Really Get To See That. Almost None. It's The Most Precious Gift I Can Give, To Bring Her Out Of Hiding.

Maybe That, Really, Is As Good A Definition As Any Of An Artist In The World: A Ruthless Person.

But Do You Know This Idea Of The Imaginary Homeland? Once You Set Out From Shore On Your Little Boat, Once You Embark, You'll Never Truly Be At Home Again. What You've Left Behind Exists Only In Your Memory, And Your Ideal Place Becomes Some Strange Imaginary Concoction Of All You've Left Behind At Every Stop.