I Had Cancer For Fourteen

Our Job As Writers Is To Listen, To Come Home To The Four Corners Of The Earth.

The Muscles Of Writing Are Not So Visible, But They Are Just As Powerful: Determination, Attention, Curiosity, A Passionate Heart.

Life Is Not Orderly. No Matter How We Try To Make Life So, Right In The Middle Of It We Die, Lose A Leg, Fall In Love, Drop A Jar Of Applesauce. In Summer, We Work Hard To Make A Tidy Garden, Bordered By Pansies With Rows Or Clumps Of Columbine, Petunias, Bleeding Hearts. Then We Find Ourselves Longing For The Forest, Where Everything Has The Appearance Of Disorder; Yet We Feel Peaceful There.

Stress Is Basically A Disconnection From The Earth, A Forgetting Of The Breath.

I Don't Think Everyone Wants To Create The Great American Novel, But We All Have A Dream Of Telling Our Stories-of Realizing What We Think, Feel, And See Before We Die. Writing Is A Path To Meet Ourselves And Become Intimate.