Children Are Knives, My Mother

I'd Rather Be A Freak Than A Clone.

She Always Had That About Her, That Look Of Otherness, Of Eyes That See Things Much Too Far, And Of Thoughts That Wander Off The Edge Of The World.

I Like Autumn. The Drama Of It; The Golden Lion Roaring Through The Back Door Of The Year, Shaking Its Mane Of Leaves. A Dangerous Time; Of Violent Rages And Deceptive Calm, Of Fireworks In The Pockets And Conkers In The Fist.

The Process Of Writing Is A Little Like Madness, A Kind Of Possession Not Altogether Benign.

I Think Everybody Has A Secret Life.