When I Pointed To Him His Palms

Naturally, You Don't Sit Down In "white Hot Inspiration" And Write With A Burning Flame In Front Of You. But Since I Knew I Could Never Be Happy Being Anything But A Writer, And Mockingbird Put Itself Together For Me So Accommodatingly, I Kept At It Because I Knew It Had To Be My First Novel, For Better Or For Worse.

Somewhere, I Had Received The Impression That Fine Folks Were People Who Did The Best They Could With The Sense They Had, But Aunt Alexandra Was Of The Opinion, Obliquely Expressed, That The Longer A Family Had Been Squatting On One Patch Of Land The Finer It Was.

Now, 75 Years Later In An Abundant Society Where People Have Laptops, Cell Phones, Ipods, And Minds Like Empty Rooms, I Still Plod Along With Books. Instant Information Is Not For Me. I Prefer To Search Library Stacks Because When I Work To Learn Something, I Remember It. And, Oprah, Can You Imagine Curling Up In Bed To Read A Computer? Weeping For Anna Karenina And Being Terrified By Hannibal Lecter, Entering The Heart Of Darkness With Mistah Kurtz, Having Holden Caulfield Ring You Up — Some Things Should Happen On Soft Pages, Not Cold Metal.

I Don't Hafta Take His Sass

Are You Proud Of Yourself Tonight That You Have Insulted A Total Stranger Whose Circumstances You Know Nothing About?