When I Was Very Little,

Inelegantly, And Without My Consent, Time Passed.

I Walked Down The Hall And Saw That [she] Was Sitting On The Floor Next To A Chair. This Is Always A Bad Sign. It's A Slippery Slope, And It's Best Just To Sit In Chairs, To Eat When Hungry, To Sleep And Rise And Work. But We Have All Been There. Chairs Are For People, And You're Not Sure If You Are One.

Some May Say That Such A Girl Is Not Ready For A Relationship With A Man, Especially A Man In His Late Sixties. But To That I Say: We Don't Know Anything. We Don't Know How To Cure A Cold Or What Dogs Are Thinking. We Do Terrible Things, We Make Wars, We Kill People Out Of Greed. So Who Are We To Say How To Love. I Wouldn't Force Her. I Wouldn't Have To. She Would Want Me. We Would Be In Love. What Do You Know. You Don't Know Anything. Call Me When You've Cured Aids, Give Me A Ring Then And I'll Listen.

I Can Guarantee You Nothing I Do Is A Conscious Attempt To Inject Something In.

I Was A Lot Dumber When I Was Writing The Novel. I Felt Like Worse Of A Writer Because I Wrote Many Of The Short Stories In One Sitting Or Over Maybe Three Days, And They Didn't Change That Much. There Weren't Many, Many Drafts. That Made Me Feel Semi-brilliant And Part Of A Magical Process. Writing The Novel Wasn't Like That. I Would Come Home Every Day From My Office And Say, "well, I Still Really Like The Story, I Just Wish It Was Better Written." At That Point, I Didn't Realize I Was Writing A First Draft. And The First Draft Was The Hardest Part.