It Was Up To Him

Still, I Kept Writing. I Had No Guarantee That I Would Someday Win Awards For Writing. Heavens, The Only Person During That Time Who Seemed To Think I Could Write Something Worth Publishing Was My Loyal Husband. But I Always Remembered The Professor From Graduate School Who Urged Me To Write And Who Recommended Me For That First Writing Assignment In 1964. When I Protested To Sara Little That I Didn't Want To Add Another Mediocre Writer To The World, She Gently Reminded Me That If I Didn't Dare Mediocrity, I Would Never Write Anything At All.

Trouble Can Always Be Borne When It Is Shared.

If You Could Hold Your Nose To Avoid A Stink, Or Close Your Eyes To Cut Out A Sight, Why Not Shut Off Your Brain To Avoid A Thought?

Once A Book Is Published, It No Longer Belongs To Me. My Creative Task Is Done. The Work Now Belongs To The Creative Mind Of My Readers. I Had My Turn To Make Of It What I Would, Now It Is Their Turn.

Crazy People Who Are Judged To Be Harmless Are Allowed An Enormous Amount Of Freedom Ordinary People Are Denied.