I Looked At Her And

In Little Pockets Of Conversation, Old Men Were Telling Stories Of Ancient Floods. Women Were Talking Of About How Much Rain There'd Been In Other Towns -- Paragould, Lepanto, And Manila.

And They Drank Heavily, Partied With Great Enthusiasm, And Relished The Drug Culture; They Moved In And Out And Slept Around, And This Was Okay Because They Defined Their Own Morality. They Were Fighting For The Mexicans And The Redwoods, Dammit! They Had To Be Good People!

I Was On The Verge Of Tears, So I Turned And Ran Past The Trailer And Along The Field Road Until I Was Safely Out Of Their Sight. Then I Ducked Into The Cotton And Waited For Friendly Voices. I Sat On The Hot Ground, Surrounded By Stalks Four Feet Tall, And I Cried, Something I Really Hated To Do.

In My Case, Once You Sell A Lot Of Books And You Are Labeled A Bestselling Author, The Serious Critics Are Never Gonna Say Anything Nice About You.

I've Written 17 Novels, And I've Found Out That Fiction Can't Keep Up With Real Life.