It's A Pretty Brutal Process,

Reality Might Be Described As The Eternal Equipoise Of Positive And Negative.

I Absolutely Don't Dislike Children - I Would Choose Their Company Over Adult Company Any Time.

Hope Is Like One Of Those Orchids That Grows Around Toxic Waste: Lovely In Itself - And An Assertion, If You Like, Of Indefatigable Good - But A Sure Sign That Something Nasty Lies Underneath.

The Reaction To 'aftermath' Has Been Far Worse Than To 'a Life's Work,' Yet I Find I'm Perhaps A Little Less Touched By It. In Both Cases, I've Coped Artistically By Believing The Criticisms Weren't Right. They Upset Me, But They Didn't Challenge My Understanding Of How To Write, Nor Of How Morality Functions In Literature.

As Writers Go, I Have A Skin Of Average Thickness. I Am Pleased By A Good Review, Disappointed By A Bad. None Of It Penetrates Far Enough To Influence The Thing I Write Next.