In Her Bottled Up Is A Woman

When Midlist Writers Are Treated Like Dirt, I Would Desist Were I Less Stubborn And Less Committed.

I Want To Be With People Who Submerge In The Task, Who Go Into The Fields To Harvest And Work In A Row And Pass The Bags Along, Who Are Not Parlor Generals And Field Deserters But Move In A Common Rhythm When The Food Must Come In Or The Fire Be Put Out. The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

The Real Writer Is One Who Really Writes. Talent Is An Invention Like Phlogiston After The Fact Of Fire. Work Is Its Own Cure. You Have To Like It Better Than Being Loved.

We Must Shine With Hope, Stained Glass Windows That Shape Light Into Icons, Glow Like Lanterns Borne Before A Procession. Who Can Bear Hope Back Into The World But Us.

Suspense Is One Of The Ways You Persuade A Reader To Become Engaged And Stay Engaged With Your Work.