So I Was Smacked Up On The

Continuous Present Is All We Have, And Stream Of Consciousness - Which In A Novel Is Arguably Just As Artificial As The Stilted Dialogue That You Get In Most Conventional Novels. They're All Stratagems To Try To Get Closer To The Texture Of Lived Life.

Certainly, For Time Out Of Mind, An Obsessive Dwelling On Happier Former Days Has Been Synonymous With Getting Older, While It Was The Juvenescent Who Rushed With Open Arms To Embrace The Future.

The Novelist, Quite Rightly, Fears The Psychoanalyst As Both An Enemy And A Usurper.

From Time To Time, As If Heaven-sent To Annoy, Someone Will Ask Me If I'm Self-disciplined When It Comes To My Work. I Usually Look Witheringly At Them And Snarl, 'what Do You Think?' I Mean, How Do You Imagine Anyone Writes A Quarter Of A Million Words A Year For Publication?

Of Course, With Well-masticated Food Playing The Role Of Social Glue, It's Absolutely Essential That Everyone Clear Their Plate. Sod The Starving Kiddies In Africa - It's The Overfed Ones Here We Need To Worry About.