Memories, You See, Hurt. The Good Ones

A Dancer On Break Approached Him. She Smiled. Each Tooth Was Angled In A Different Direction, As If Her Mouth Were The Masterwork Of A Mad Orthodontist. "hi," She Said. "hi." "you're Really Cute." "i Don't Have Any Money." She Spun And Walked Away. Ah, Romance.

Frankly I'm Fairly Boring Or Fairly Busy. Between Writing And Family, I Have Little Time For Anything Else.

I Always Say Three Things Make A Writer: Inspiration, Obviously; Perspiration, Doing The Work. But The Third Is Desperation. I'm Not Really Fit For Anything Else, Or To Have A Real Job. That Fear Drives Me. The Pressure Has Always Been Self Inflicted.

That's What A Good Crime Novelist - Any Good Novelist - Should Do With You: Play With Your Perceptions While Showing You Everything In Plain Sight.

The Ugliest Truth, In The End, Was Still Better Than The Prettiest Of Lies.