Nothing Factual That I Write Or Say

I'm Forty-nine But I Could Be Twenty-five Except For My Face And My Legs.

Mostly I'm Interviewed By White People, And Identified With White Society.

The Tension Between Standing Apart, And Being Fully Involved; That Is What Makes A Writer.

It's Easier For The Former Masters To Put Aside The Masks That Hid Their Humanity Than For The Former Slaves To Recognise The Faces Underneath. Or To Trust That This Is Not A New Mask These Are Wearing.

I Don't Understand Writers Who Feel They Shouldn't Have To Do Any Of The Ordinary Things Of Life, Because I Think That This Is Necessary: One Has To Keep In Touch With That... The Ordinary Action Of Taking A Dress Down To The Dry Cleaner's Or Spraying Some Plants Infected With Greenfly Is A Very Sane And Good Thing To Do. It Brings One Back, So To Speak. It Also Brings The World Back.