Sometimes I Say To Myself, 'oh, I

If You Aren't Cute, You May As Well Be Clever.

I Met A Young Woman The Other Day, And She Said, What Advice Would You Have For A Writer, And I Said It Would Be To Work Every Day... Your Job Is To Write. The Rest Of It Will Take Care Of Itself. But, Generally, It Seems ... You Know How That Is, You Meet People And They Have A Talent For Self-promotion. Those Are The Pushy People. And You Know Their Writing's Not Going To Be Any Good, Because That's Not Their Talent.

The Difference Between The First Time I Read Something And The Tenth Time I Read Something Is Generally Pretty Profound. Even If The Script Is The Same, Just The Way That I Read It Is Different.

It's Funny How Certain Objects Convey A Message - My Washer And Dryer, For Example. They Can't Speak, Of Course, But Whenever I Pass Them They Remind Me That I'm Doing Fairly Well. "no More Laundromat For You," They Hum. My Stove, A Downer, Tells Me Every Day That I Can't Cook, And Before I Can Defend Myself My Scale Jumps In, Shouting From The Bathroom, "well, He Must Be Doing _something - _my Numbers Is Off The Charts." The Skeleton Has A Much More Limited Vocabulary, And Says Only One Thing: "you Are Going To Die."

When Forced To Leave My House For An Extended Period Of Time, I Take My Typewriter With Me, And Together We Endure The Wretchedness Of Passing Through The X-ray Scanner. The Laptops Roll Merrily Down The Belt, While I’m Instructed To Stand Aside And Open My Bag. To Me It Seems Like A Normal Enough Thing To Be Carrying, But The Typewriter’s Declining Popularity Arouses Suspicion And I Wind Up Eliciting The Sort Of Reaction One Might Expect When Traveling With A Cannon. It’s A Typewriter,’ I Say. ‘you Use It To Write Angry Letters To Airport Security.