It Wasn't That I Had Gotten It

Most National Correspondents Will Tell You They Rely On Stringers And Researchers And Interns And Clerks And News Assistants.

I Began Reading Harper Lee's Novel In The Skimpy Shade Of A Pine Outside My Grandmother's House, Fat Beagles Pressing Against Me, Begging For Attention, Ignored. At Dark, I Kept Reading, First On The Couch, A Bologna Sandwich In One Hand, Then In My Bed, By The Light Of A 60-watt Bulb Hanging From The Ceiling On An Orange Drop Cord. When My Mother Came In From Her Job As A Maid And Unplugged My Chandelier, I Replayed The Story In My Head Until It Was Crowded Out By Dreams. I Woke The Next Morning, Smelling Biscuits, And Reached For The Book Again.

I Don't Think There's A Difference Between Writing For A Newspaper Or Magazine And Doing A Chapter In A Book.

The Haitians, Who Knew Something About Suffering And Survival, Had A Beautiful Phrase... The Translation Is Not Perfect, But The Nut Of It Was: 'the Season Of Pain Is Never Over Until The Sky Begins To Cry.

Every Life Deserves A Certain Amount Of Dignity, No Matter How Poor Or Damaged The Shell That Carries It.