During The Act Of Writing

I Work Continuously Within The Shadow Of Failure. For Every Novel That Makes It To My Publisher's Desk, There Are At Least Five Or Six That Died On The Way. And Even With The Ones I Do Finish, I Think Of All The Ways They Might Have Been Better.

Much Of The Activity We Think Of As Writing Is, Actually, Getting Ready To Write.

I Confess, Right At The Start, To The Doubts - And Sometimes Outright Dreads - That Go With Me As I Climb The Stairs To My Study In The Morning, Coffee Mug In Hand: I Have To Admit To The Habitual Apprehension Mixed With A Sort Of Reverence, As I Light The Incense . . . And Wonder: What Is Going To Happen Today? Will Anything Happen? Will The Angel Come Today?

I Read Constantly. If I Don't Have A Good Book, I'm Beside Myself.

How Easy It Was To Make People Happy, When You Didn't Want Or Need Anything From Them.