Man Makes Plans . . . And

I’d Spent My Whole Life Waiting To Awake On An Ordinary Morning In The Town That Was Destined To Be My Home, In The Arms Of The Woman I Was Destined To Love, Knowing The People And Doing The Work That Would Make Up The Changing But Essentially Invariable Landscape Of My Particular Destiny.

Every Universe, Our Own Included, Begins In Conversation. Every Golem In The History Of The World, From Rabbi Hanina's Delectable Goat To The River-clay Frankenstein Of Rabbi Judah Loew Ben Bezalel, Was Summoned Into Existence Through Language, Through Murmuring, Recital, And Kabbalistic Chitchat -- Was, Literally, Talked Into Life.

Childhood Is A Branch Of Cartography.

When I First Decided I Wanted To Be A Writer, When I Was 10, 11 Years Old, The Books That I Loved Obviously And Openly Fit That Description: They Came With Maps And Glossaries And Timelines - Books Like Lord Of The Rings, Dune, The Chronicles Of Narnia. I Imagined That's What Being A Writer Was: You Invented A World, And You Did It In A Very Detailed Way, And You Told Stories That Were Set In That World.

The Things I Keep Going Back To, Rereading, Maybe They Say More About Me As A Reader Than About The Books. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Pale Fire.