Everything Was Fabulous, Even Our

The Stars Looked Like Nail Heads In The Sky--pull A Few Of Them Out And The Darkness Would Fall.

She Was Tired Of Everyone Wanting To Go To Heaven, Nobody Wanting To Die. The Only Thing Worth Grieving Over, She Said, Was That Sometimes There Was More Beauty In This Life Than The World Could Bear.

They Told Me Corrigan Smashed All The Bones In His Chest When He Hit The Steering Wheel. I Thought, Well At Least In Heaven His Spanish Chick'll Be Able To Reach In And Grab His Heart.

I Love Short Stories. They're Like Small Imploding Universes. They Are Very Tightly Bound And Controlled. I'd Been Wanting To Write One For Ages But Just Got Tangled Up In Novels. The Novel Is The Same In The Sense That It Is Also A Universe, But It Explodes Outwards With All That Shrapnel Going In Several Different Directions. I Don't See Too Much Difference In The Forms Except For The Fact That Writing Short Stories Is Like Sprinting Rather Than Long-distance Running.

If You Have A Structure Beforehand, You're Sort Of Stuffing Your Story Into A Pre-assembled Box. You Don't Want That To Happen. What You Want In Your Writing Is To Have A Sort Of Wildness That Occurs. And Then, Out Of The Wildness, A Structure Emerges.