People Are Unjust To Anger

I Don’t Ask Writers About Their Work Habits. I Really Don’t Care. Joyce Carol Oates Says Somewhere That When Writers Ask Each Other What Time They Start Working And When They Finish And How Much Time They Take For Lunch, They’re Actually Trying To Find Out, "is He As Crazy As I Am?" I Don’t Need That Question Answered.

Seeing Is Believing And Believing Is Knowing And Knowing Beats Unknowing And The Unknown.

Never In His Life Had Occasion To Ask Himself, "why Are Things The Way They Are?" Why Should He Bother, When The Way They Were Was Always Perfect? Why Are Things The Way They Are? The Question To Which There Is No Answer, And Up Till Then He Was So Blessed He Didn't Even Know The Question Existed.

The Fact Remains That Getting People Right Is Not What Living Is All About Anyway. It's Getting Them Wrong That Is Living, Getting Them Wrong And Wrong And Wrong And Then, On Careful Reconsideration, Getting Them Wrong Again. That's How We Know We're Alive: We're Wrong.

I Know I'm Not Going To Write As Well As I Used To. I No Longer Have The Stamina To Endure The Frustration. Writing Is Frustration - It's Daily Frustration, Not To Mention Humiliation.