None Of The Rest Of My Life

I Feel A Terrible Loss When I (eventually Must) Complete A Work Of Fiction.

Without Craft, Art Remains Private. Without Art, Craft Is Merely Hackwork.

I Write So Much Because My Cat Sits On My Lap. She Purrs So I Don't Want To Get Up. She's So Much More Calming Than My Husband.

We Are Stimulated To Emotional Response, Not By Works That Confirm Our Sense Of The World, But By Works That Challenge It.

One Writes To Memorialize, And To Bring To Life Again That Which Has Been Lost.