There's No Such Thing As A Writer's

Our Bodies Are Garbage Heaps: We Collect Experience, And From The Decomposition Of The Thrown-out Eggshells, Spinach Leaves, Coffee Grinds, And Old Steak Bones Out Of Our Minds Come Nitrogen, Heat, And Very Fertile Soil. Out Of This Fertile Soil Bloom Our Poems And Stories. But This Does Not Come All At Once. It Takes Time. Continue To Turn Over And Over The Organic Details Of Your Life Until Some Of Them Fall Through The Garbage Of Discursive Thoughts To The Solid Ground Of Black Soil.

Poems Are Small Moments Of Enlightenment

Women Need Space And Silence. We Too Quickly Give Away Our Energy. There's Something About Holding That Richness.

I Still Write With Pen And Paper And Have Someone Type It On A Computer. But Rewriting I Do By Hand.

It’s Much Better To Be A Tribal Writer, Writing For All People And Reflecting Many Voices Through Us, Than To Be A Cloistered Being Trying To Find One Peanut Of Truth In Our Own Individual Mind. Become Big And Write With The Whole World In Your Arms.