[no] Matter What A Waste One Has

I've Never Been Very Attached To Genre Labels And Never Set Out Intentionally To Write Historic Fiction. Besides, What You Consider Historic Depends On How Far Back Your Memory Extends.

Well, I'm A Slow Writer. For Me, A Good Day Is A Page, Maybe A Page And A Half. I'd Love To Be More Efficient, But I Am Not.

What I'm Certain I Don't Want Is To Find Myself Someday In A New Century, An Old Bitter Woman Looking Back, Wishing That Right Now I'd Had More Nerve.

But I Believe The Words Entered Me And Changed Me And Still Work In Me. The Words Eat Me And Sustain Me. And When I'm Dead And In A Box In The Dark Dark Ground, And All My Various Souls Have Died And I Am Nothing But Insensible Bones, Something In The Marrow Will Still Feel Yearning, Desire Persisting Beyond Flesh.

The Sixties Were Different In An Isolated Place. We Got Two Television Channels If The Wind Was Blowing In The Right Direction. The Radio Stations Went Off At Sundown. Then You Picked Up Chicago And Heard The Teenage Music You Really Yearned For.