Lawyer Even Sounds Like Liar.

Readers No Longer Need Novelists To Tell Us What It's Like To Cross The World On A Ship Or Fight A War. In The Twenty-first Century, We Get That Information In Other Ways. The Thing That's Still A Mystery To Us Is The Human Heart. What We Want Is To Understand People, What They're Doing, And Why They're Doing It.

At One Time If You Were A Black Writer You Had To Be One Of The Best Writers In The World To Be Published. You Had To Be Great. Now You Can Be Good. Mediocre. And That's Good.

If You Want To Be A Writer, You Have To Write Every Day... You Don't Go To A Well Once But Daily. You Don't Skip A Child's Breakfast Or Forget To Wake Up In The Morning.

I Used To Worry About Money And Career And What Was Going To Happen. How Was I Gonna Succeed Or Fail In The World? And I Thought About It Enough That I'm No Longer Worried About It. I'm Not... I Don't Worry About What's Gonna Happen In My Life. I Don't Worry About Telling Me About Dying, My Own Mortality. That's A Given.

That’s How Ptolemy Imagined The Disposition Of His Memories, His Thoughts: They Were Still His, Still In The Range Of His Thinking, But They Were, Many And Most Of Them, Locked On The Other Side A Closed Door That He’s Lost The Key For. So His Memory Became Like Secrets Held Away From His Own Mind. But These Secrets Were Noisy Things; They Babbled And Muttered Behind The Door, And So If He Listened Closely He Might Catch A Snatch Of Something He Once Knew Well.