I Grew Up When People

I Thought I Was Writing For A Fairly Hip, Intelligent Crowd; I Just Thought There Were More Of Them Out There. But They're Not. They're Not Out There Waiting. They're Not Gonna Use Their Intelligence On Your Book.

The Point Is To Strip Down, Get Protestant, Then Even More Naked. Walk Over Scorched Bricks To Find Your Own Soul. Your Heart A Searching Dog In The Rubble.

If You Are Able To Explain Suffering, A Man Once Told Him, You Weren't Really There.

Professional Southerners Sicken Me.

Most Novels I Come Across Have All The Excitement Of A Long Trip On A Bus With A Sensitive Glee Club. Yammer And Chat.