There Is No Choice More Intensely Personal,

As I Got Older, I Discovered That Nothing Within Me Cried Out For A Baby. My Womb Did Not Seem To Have Come Equipped With That Famously Ticking Clock. Unlike So Many Of My Friends, I Did Not Ache With Longing Whenever I Saw An Infant. (though I Did Ache With Longing, It Is True, Whenever I Saw A Good Used-book Shop)

We Gallop Through Our Lives Like Circus Performers Balancing On Two Speeding Side-by-side Horses--one Foot Is On The Horse Called "fate," The Other On The Horse Called "free Will." And The Question You Have To Ask Every Day Is--which Horse Is Which? Which Horse Do I Need To Stop Worrying About Because It's Not Under My Control, And Which Do I Need To Steer With Concentrated Effort?

For The Entire Decade Of My 30s And The Early Part Of My 40s, I Didn't Write A Word Of Fiction. I Just Left Behind A Dream Of My Life.

I Think When You Are An Aspiring Writer, You Must Write Every Day. It's Not As Though Anybody Will Call You Up On The Phone And Say, "i Understand You Are A Very Promising, Aspiring Writer And I'm Going To Give You This Assignment." You Have To Create It Yourself Or It's Never Going To Happen.

You Know, I Think That Allowing Somebody, One Mere Person To Believe That He Or She Is Like, The Vessel You Know, Like The Font And The Essence And The Source Of All Divine, Creative, Unknowable, Eternal Mystery Is Just A Smidge Too Much Responsibility To Put On One Fragile, Human Psyche. It's Like Asking Somebody To Swallow The Sun.