How Can A People Who

A Lonely Man Is A Lonesome Thing, A Stone, A Bone, A Stick, A Receptacle For Gilbey's Gin, A Stooped Figure Sitting At The Edge Of A Hotel Bed, Heaving Copious Sighs Like The Autumn Wind.

I Do Not Understand The Capricious Lewdness Of The Sleeping Mind.

Fiction Is Art And Art Is The Triumph Over Chaos… To Celebrate A World That Lies Spread Out Around Us Like A Bewildering And Stupendous Dream.

The Need To Write Comes From The Need To Make Sense Of One's Life And Discover One's Usefulness.

I Can't Write Without A Reader. It's Precisely Like A Kiss - You Can't Do It Alone.