Writing Is Not Life, But I Think

The Poets Continually And Sometimes Wilfully Mistake Love. Love Is The Old Slaughterer.

The Year She Had Run Fleetly Through The Dewy Grass Under The Moon- The Night Of Wine, When Dreams Condensed Out Of Thin Air Like The Nightmilk Of Fantasy.

Description Is What Makes The Reader A Sensory Participant In The Story.

There Is The Watchmaker Theory That God Wound Up The Universe And Let It Tick. That May Be. Or It May Be That He Takes A Hand In Things From Time To Time. But Whatever It Is, I Am Sure That There Is Something Out There.

Writing Is Seduction.