The Life Most Of Us Live Are

Love, As The Poet Says, Is Like The Spring. It Grows On You And Seduces You Slowly And Gently, But It Holds Tight Like The Roots Of A Tree. You Don't Know Until You're Ready To Go That You Can't Move, That You Would Have To Mutilate Yourself In Order To Be Free. That's The Feeling. It Doesn't Last, At Least It Doesn't Have To. But It Holds On Like A Steel Claw In Your Chest. Even If The Tree Dies, The Roots Cling To You. I've Seen Men And Women Give Up Everything For Love That Once Was.

I'm Writing, I'm Using Language, I'm Using That Language To Tell Stories And Even More So To Get Ideas Across. And I Just Love That, And I've Always Loved That.

Many Writers-in-waiting Spend A Lot Of Time Avoiding The Work At Hand. The Most Common Way To Avoid Writing Is By Procrastination. This Is The Writer's Greatest Enemy. There Is Little To Say About It Except That Once You Decide To Write Every Day, You Must Make Yourself Sit At The Desk Or Table For The Required Period Whether Or Not You Are Putting Down Words. Make Yourself Take The Time Even If The Hours Seem Fruitless. Ideally, After A Few Days Or Weeks Of Being Chained To The Desk, You Will Submit To The Story That Must Be Told.

I Always Tell People, If A Young Girl Read "beloved" As Her First Novel, She'd Have To Kill Either Herself Or Her Mother, Because In "beloved" You Have A Mother Killing Their Children. This Is Not Something A Child Would Accept Very Easily. And Would Never Understand.

I Used To Worry About Money And Career And What Was Going To Happen. How Was I Gonna Succeed Or Fail In The World? And I Thought About It Enough That I'm No Longer Worried About It. I'm Not... I Don't Worry About What's Gonna Happen In My Life. I Don't Worry About Telling Me About Dying, My Own Mortality. That's A Given.