Children Should Have Enough Freedom

Young Men Kill Someone For A Handful Of Coins, Then Are Remorseless, Even Casual: Hey, Man, Things Happen. And Their Parents Nab The Culprit: It Was The City, The Cops, The System, The Crowd, The Music. Anyone But Him. Anyone But Me.

A Friend And I Flew South With Our Children. During The Week We Spent Together I Took Off My Shoes, Let Down My Hair, Took Apart My Psyche, Cleaned The Pieces, And Put Them Together Again In Much Improved Condition. I Feel Like A Car That's Just Had A Tune-up. Only Another Woman Could Have Acted As The Mechanic.

You Write To Suit Some Sense In Yourself And Trust That That Will Resonate With A Certain Wider Readership.

A Writer Is Always Working With Whatever She's Managed To Store In The Brainpan Or Puzzle Out About The World.

There's A Certain Kind Of Conversation You Have From Time To Time At Parties In New York About A New Book. The Word "banal" Sometimes Rears Its By-now Banal Head; You Say "underedited," I Say "derivative." The Conversation Goes Around And Around Various Literary Criticisms, And By The Time It Moves On One Thing Is Clear: No One Read The Book; We Just Read The Reviews.