If You Run Away From Trouble, It

Hope Is A Punishable Offense. The Verdict Is Always Death; One More Death Of The Heart.

Ecstasy And Vulnerability Belonged In The Same Dish. The Fear The Cup Would Be Snatched Away Was What Gave The Wine Its Savor.

It's Lovely. I Hate It.

I Held Out My Book. It Was Precious To Me, As Were All The Things I'd Written; Even Where I Despised Their Inadequacy There Was Not One I Would Disown. Each Tore Its Way From My Entrails. Each Had Shortened My Life, Killed Me With Its Own Special Little Death.

At An Early School, When I Was About 5, They Asked What We Wanted To Be When We Grew Up. Everyone Said Silly Things, And I Said I Wanted To Be An Actress. So That Was What I Wanted To Be, But What I Was, Of Course, Was A Writer.