Hunger Steals The Memory

Time Is The Water In Which We Live, And We Breathe It Like Fish. ... Time Pours Into Us And Then Pours Out Again. In Between The Two Pourings We Live Our Destiny.

I Make Very Involved Drawings, Even Little Structures, And Try Using Design To Figure Out The Rhythm Of A Plot. If There Are Several Narrators Then A Clue Has To Pop Up In The First Line. There Have To Be Certain Grammatical Clues, Or Distinctive Names.

Time Was Rushing Around Me Like Water Around A Big Wet Rock. The Only Difference Is, I Was Not So Durable As Stones. Very Quickly I Would Be Smoothed Away.

...which Causes Me To Wonder, My Own Purpose On So Many Days As Humble As The Spider's, What Is Beautiful That I Make? What Is Elegant? What Feeds The World?

To Be Of Mixed Blood Is A Great Gift For A Writer. I Have One Foot On Tribal Lands And One Foot In Middle-class Life.