...bleak Territory Of The Heart.

You Can't Stop Time. You Can't Capture Light. You Can Only Turn Your Face Up And Let It Rain Down.

Its Impossible To Control The Reception Of Your Work - The Only Thing You Can Control Is The Experience Of Writing Itself, And The Work You Create.

The Lake Of Dreams Grew Gradually, Over Many Years, Elements And Ideas Accruing Until They Gained Enough Critical Mass To Become A Novel.

The City Of Pittsburgh Gleaming Suddenly Before Her . . . So Startling In Its Vastness And Its Beauty That She Had Gasped And Slowed, Afraid Of Losing Control Of The Car

Then She Had Been A Fiancee, A Young Wife, And A Mother, And She Had Discovered That These Words Were Far Too Small Ever To Contain The Experience.