I'm Little But I'm Old.

I Remember When My Daddy Gave Me That Gun. He Told Me That I Should Never Point It At Anything In The House; And That He'd Rather I'd Shoot At Tin Cans In The Backyard. But He Said That Sooner Or Later He Supposed The Temptation To Go After Birds Would Be Too Much, And That I Could Shoot All The Blue Jays I Wanted - If I Could Hit 'em; But To Remember It Was A Sin To Kill A Mockingbird.

When A Child Asks You Something, Answer Him, For Goodness Sake. But Don't Make A Production Of It. Children Are Children, But They Can Spot An Evasion Faster Than Adults, And Evasion Simply Muddles 'em.

I Didn't Expect The Book To Sell In The First Place. I Was Hoping For A Quick And Merciful Death At The Hands Of Reviewers But At The Same Time I Sort Of Hoped That Maybe Someone Would Like It Enough To Give Me Encouragement. Public Encouragement. I Hoped For A Little, As I Said, But I Got Rather A Whole Lot, And In Some Ways This Was Just About As Frightening As The Quick, Merciful Death I'd Expected.

Any Writer Worth His Salt Writes To Please Himself...it's A Self-exploratory Operation That Is Endless. An Exorcism Of Not Necessarily His Demon, But Of His Divine Discontent.

I Try To Give'em A Reason, You See. It Helps Folks If They Can Latch Onto A Reason.