Some People Feed You With Love.

Twenty Years Is, After All, A Long Time. We Are Not The Same People We Were. Old Friends, Lovers, Even Family Members: They Are Strangers Who Happen To Wear A Familiar Face. We Have No Right To Claim To Know Anyone After Such A Distance.

What I Mean Is This: You Meet Someone, You Think About Them. You're Already Changing Because Of The Way You Think About Them. You Meet Them Again, You Think About Them Some More, You're Changing Again. And On It Goes. You Are Changing Right Now. Before My Eyes.

I'd Defend The Right For Any Novelist To Experiment With Form Or Language, But If People Don't Take To It, Don't React By Making Out That They Are Thick.

Perhaps Writers Should Never Be Allowed To Get Together In A Workplace Context. It's Not Like Studying Computer Science, After All. The Emotions Are At Large, And Are Shared And Are Questioned. There Is A Vulnerability.

I Am Less Interested In Ghosts Than In People Who See Ghosts.