Yet I'm Making A Book And I'm

Nature, Or At Least Birds And Women, Abhorred The Invisible Man.

Context Is Everything. Dress Me Up And See. I'm A Carnival Barker, An Auctioneer, A Downtown Performance Artist, A Speaker In Tongues, A Senator Drunk On Filibuster. I've Got Tourette's. My Mouth Won't Quit, Though Mostly I Whisper Or Subvocalize Like I'm Reading Aloud, My Adam's Apple Bobbing, Jaw Muscle Beating Like A Miniature Heart Under My Cheek, The Noise Suppressed, The Words Escaping Silently, Mere Ghosts Of Themselves, Husks Of Empty Breath And Tone.

I Don't Really Ask Of Myself A Given Word Or Page Count Or Number Of Hours. To Work Every Day, That's My Only Fetish. And There Is A Physical Quality To It When A Novel Is Thriving.

I've Always Been Passionately In Love With Movies, To Such A Degree That Even As A Young Person Of About Nineteen Or Twenty I Thought Maybe I Would Try To Become A Film Director. The Reason I Didn't Do It Was Because I Felt I Didn't Have The Right Personality. At That Time In My Life, I Was Mortally Shy.

The Arts And A Belief In The Values Of The Civil Rights Movement, In The Overwhelming Virtue Of Diversity, These Were Our Religion. My Parents Worshipped Those Ideals.