Everything You Want In Life

The Fact That I’m Silent Doesn’t Mean I Have Nothing To Say.

If You Are Very Lucky, You're Allowed To Be In Certain Places During Just The Right Season Of Your Life: By The Sea For The Summer When You're Seven Or Eight And Full Of The Absolute Need To Swim Until Dark And Exhaustion Close Their Hands Together, Cupping You In Between.

There Are People We Meet In Life Who Miss Being Important To Us By Inches, Days, Or Heartbeats. Another Place Or Time Or A Different Emotional Frame Of Mind And We Would Willingly Fall Into Their Arms; Gladly Take Up Their Challenge Or Invitation. But As It Is, We Encounter Them When We Are Discontent Or Content And They Are Not. Whatever They Are, We Are Not And Vice Versa. Two Trains Going In Different Directions That Pass For A Few Powerful Moments At Full Speed, Blasting Noise And Wind But Then They Are Gone. Whatever Serious Chemistry Might Have Been Possible If, Isn’t.

A Short Story Is A Sprint, A Novel Is A Marathon. Sprinters Have Seconds To Get From Here To There And Then They Are Finished. Marathoners Have To Carefully Pace Themselves So That They Don't Run Out Of Energy (or In The Case Of The Novelist-- Ideas) Because They Have So Far To Run. To Mix The Metaphor, Writing A Short Story Is Like Having A Short Intense Affair, Whereas Writing A Novel Is Like A Long Rich Marriage.

When I Was In College, I Was The Editor Of The Literary Magazine And Insisted Neither The Editors Nor The Writers Be Specifically Identified-only Our Student Numbers Appeared On The Title Page. I Love That Idea And Still Do.