I Love Things Made Out

I Don't Write About Sex Because It's Not Really My Subject. I Love It When Other People Write About It, But It's Not My Subject, And I Don't Want Anyone I've Had Sex With To Write About It. Plus, You're In Front Of An Audience, And They Picture Wherever You're Writing About. I'm 52; No One In The Audience Wants To Picture That.

They Were Nothing Like The French People I Had Imagined. If Anything, They Were Too Kind, Too Generous And Too Knowledgable In The Fields Of Plumbing And Electricity.

Writing Helped To Have Jobs That Involved Running Around, Pushing Things Like Dish Carts And Wheelbarrows. It Would Be Hard To Sit At A Desk All Day, And Then Come To Sit At Another Desk. Also, It Helps To Abandon Hope. If I Sit At My Computer, Determined To Write A New Yorker Story I Won't Get Beyond The First Sentence. It's Better To Put No Pressure On It. What Would Happen If I Followed The Previous Sentence With This One, I'll Think. If The Eighth Draft Is Torture, The First Should Be Fun. At Least If You're Writing Humor.

The Interesting Thing About Gay People Is That You Can't Really Put On A Wedding Without Them. They're The Ones Who Make Your Dress, And Do The Flowers And The Catering. They've Toiled In The Wedding Industry All These Years But Were Never Allowed To Do It Themselves.

I Hate You' She Said To Me One Afternoon. 'i Really, Really Hate You.' Call Me Sensitive, But I Couldn't Help But Take It Personally.