Honey, No Offense, But Sometimes

My Life Is Going To Change. I Feel It.

She Serves Me A Piece Of It A Few Minutes Out Of The Oven. A Little Steam Rises From The Slits On Top. Sugar And Spice - Cinnamon - Burned Into The Crust. But She's Wearing These Dark Glasses In The Kitchen At Ten O'clock In The Morning - Everything Nice - As She Watches Me Break Off A Piece, Bring It To My Mouth, And Blow On It. My Daughter's Kitchen, In Winter. I Fork The Pie In And Tell Myself To Stay Out Of It. She Says She Loves Him. No Way Could It Be Worse.

A Great Danger, Or At Least A Great Temptation, For Many Writers Is To Become Too Autobiographical In Their Approach To Their Fiction. A Little Autobiography And A Lot Of Imagination Are Best.

There Was A Time When I Thought I Loved My First Wife More Than Life Itself. But Now I Hate Her Guts. I Do. How Do You Explain That? What Happened To That Love? What Happened To It, Is What I'd Like To Know. I Wish Someone Could Tell Me.

Anyone Can Express Himself Or Herself, But What Writers And Poets Want To Do In Their Work, More Than Simply Express Themselves, Is Communicate.