Was Anything In The World Truer Than

A Short Story Is Something That I Think Can Be Intuited And Envisioned And Held In Your Mind Almost At Once.

I Told Him The Truth, That I Loved Him And Didn't Regret Anything About Our Lives Together. But Do We Ever 'tell The Truth, The Whole Truth, And Nothing But The Truth, So Help Me God' As My Father Used To Say, To Those We Love? Or Even To Ourselves? Don't Even The Best And Most Fortunate Of Lives Hint At Other Possibilities, At A Different Kind Of Sweetness And, Yes, Bitterness Too? Isn't This Why We Can't Help Feeling Cheated, Even When We Know We Haven't Been?

The Other Possibility Was That There Was No Right Thing To Say, That The Choice Wasn't Between Right And Wrong But Between Wrong, More Wrong, And As Wrong As You Can Get.

Structure Is One Of The Things That I Always Hope Will Reveal Itself To Me.

I Suppose All Writers Worry About The Well Running Dry.