We Dreamt Of Light, But Hoped For

I Read Everything I Could Find In English - Twain, Henry James, Hemingway, Really Everything. And Then After A While I Started Writing Shorter Pieces In English, And One Of Them Got Published In A Literary Magazine And That's How It Got Started. After That, Graduate School Didn't Seem Very Important.

We Dreamt Of Light, But Hoped For Darkness.

Your Memories Become Fantasies If They Are Not Shared, And Your Life In All Its Triviality Becomes A Legend.

Cliché Activates The Comfortable Mental Laziness, We Sort Of Revert To The Domain Of The Already-familiar, What We Have Already Imagined So That It Doesn't Seem That Bad.

I Think About The Story While I Think About Other Things. This Is An Important Part Of The Process: I Look At It Sideways. If I Look Straight At It, It Produces Nothing Other Than What Seem Like Complicated, Brilliant Designs That Fall Apart The Following Morning. In Some Way Stories Mature When You're Not Looking.