So Why Not Become A Mongrel? It's

I Think It's Quite Difficult To Understand What Kind Of Life A Writer Leads. They Might Be Millionaires, Or They Might Be Starving People.

And What Made These Heart-to-hearts Possible--you Might Even Say What Made The Whole Friendship Possible During That Time--was This Understanding We Had That Anything We Told Each Other During These Moments Would Be Treated With Careful Respect: That We'd Honor Confidences, And That No Matter How Much We Rowed, We Wouldn't Use Against Each Other Anything We'd Talked About During Those Sessions.

What He Wanted Was Not Just To Hear About Hailsham, But To Remember Hailsham, Just Like It Had Been His Own Childhood. He Knew He Was Close To Completing And So That's What He Was Doing: Getting Me To Describe Things To Him, So They'd Really Sink In, So That Maybe During Those Sleepless Nights, With The Drugs And The Paint And The Exhaustion, The Line Would Blur Between What Were My Memories And What Were His.

Memory Is Quite Central For Me. Part Of It Is That I Like The Actual Texture Of Writing Through Memory.

An Artist's Concern Is To Capture Beauty Wherever He Finds It.