Writing Is A Futile Attempt To Preserve

Sometimes When A Character In A Novel Is Difficult For Me To Enter, I Sue Something In Myself Or In My Own Life As A Doorway Into That Character's Mind And Emotions.

I Don't Apologize For Being Sexually Adventurous. Why Not? It Was Often Fun. When It Wasn't - I Didn't Continue What Wasn't Pleasant.

Praise Our Choices, Sister, For Each Doorway Open To Us Was Taken By Squads Of Fighting Women Who Paid Years Of Trouble And Struggle, Who Paid Their Wombs, Their Sleep, Their Lives That We Might Walk Through These Gates Upright. Doorways Are Sacred To Women For We Are The Doorways Of Life And We Must Choose What Comes In And What Goes Out. Freedom Is Our Real Abundance.

I Don't Think Writers Change The Past Any More Than Other People Do, Except In So Far As We May Mine Our Lives And Change Things For Fictional Use.

The Mind Wraps Itself Around A Poem. It Is Almost Sensual, Particularly If You Work On A Computer. You Can Turn The Poem Round And About And Upside Down, Dancing With It A Kind Of Bolero Of Two Snakes Twisting And Coiling, Until The Poem Has Found Its Right And Proper Shape.