I Have A Story That

As For Hearing, The Sloth Is Not So Much Deaf As Uninterested In Sound.

The Planet Is Populated By Human Beings, Of Which There Are Only Two Sexes, And The Role Of The Writer Is To Explore Otherness, Other Realities. So The Idea Of A Man Exploring What It's Like To Be A Woman Doesn't Strike Me As Being That Wild Or Crazy An Idea.

We Are All Born Like Catholics, Aren't We—in Limbo, Without Religion, Until Some Figure Introduces Us To God?

Just Do It. Get It Down On The Page. Work Hard. And Then Let Go. Ask Yourself Why You Want To Write. You Have To Be Clear About That.

For The First Time I Noticed - As I Would Notice Repeatedly During My Ordeal, Between One Throe Of Agony And The Next - That My Suffering Was Taking Place In A Grand Setting. I Saw My Suffering For What It Was, Finite And Insignificant, And I Was Still. My Suffering Did Not Fit Anywhere, I Realized. And I Could Accept This. It Was All Right.