Momma Kept A Garden, Which Sounds Romantic

When You're A Sportswriter, You Learn How To Use Your Imagination And To Flex Your Literary Muscle, Because It's The Same Game Played Over And Over Again. There's Nothing Unique Or Marvelous. It's Not An Earthquake, Or A Weird Mass Murder. It's Just The Same Old Game Played Over And Over, And You Have To Bring Out The Personalities. You Have To Drag Them Kicking And Screaming Out Into The Light Of Day, Or You're Not A Good Sportswriter.

It Wasn't That I Had Gotten It Right . . . But That I Had Gotten True.

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.

I Have Dictated Stories From An Airport After Writing The Story Out In Longhand On The Plane That I Got From Phone Interviews And Then Was Applauded By Editors For 'working Magic.

And Sandy Martindale ... Dated Elvis Before The Rhinestone Jumpsuits And The Drugs, When He Was Sharp And Cool And Jagged, Like Porcelain That Has Been Hurled Against A Wall.