There's No Shortage Of Material In Life.

From Age 23 To 44 - I'm 45 Now - I Was Always In Need Of Money, And I Was Especially In Need Of It From 23 To About 34, And My Great Aunt Would Always Give Me Money, A Hundred Bucks, Every Two Months Or So, And A Lot Of Times That Hundred Bucks Made A Huge Difference - I Could Eat Or Pay A Small Bill. It Kept Me Going. She Gave Me Money. It Was Very Loving.

Nothing Wrong With Changing Your Mind. That's A Very Unwaffling Thing To Say: "nothing Wrong..." Who Am I To Say That There's Nothing Wrong With It? Maybe Something Is Wrong With Changing Your Mind. Anyway, Love Is Very, Very Difficult. I Love. But Probably Because I Hate Myself On Some Deep, Sick Level, It Makes Loving Difficult. But I Do Try.

Then Again, The Name, The Associations With A Writer's Name, Can Add To The Reader's Entertainment And Pleasure.

I Have Very Few Hobbies. In Fact, I Have No Hobbies.

My Sophomore English Teacher Encouraged Me To Write For The School Paper, And That's What Got Me Started. Suddenly It Struck Me That Being A Writer Could Be A Romantic And Adventurous Position. Previously, I Had Thought I Would Be A Tennis Pro, Giving Lessons At A Local Club. I Thought That Would Be A Good Life, And It Might Have Been.