You’d Be Surprised What A

I Believe The First Draft Of A Book — Even A Long One — Should Take No More Than Three Months…any Longer And — For Me, At Least — The Story Begins To Take On An Odd Foreign Feel, Like A Dispatch From The Romanian Department Of Public Affairs, Or Something Broadcast On High-band Shortwave Duiring A Period Of Severe Sunspot Activity.

High School Isn't A Very Important Place. When You're Going You Think It's A Big Deal, But When It's Over Nobody Really Thinks It Was Great Unless They're Beered Up.

But Who Can Foresee Such Things? None Of Us Can Predict The Final Outcomes Of Our Actions, And Few Of Us Even Try; Most Of Us Just Do What We Do To Prolong A Moment's Pleasure Or To Stop The Pain. And Even When We Act For The Noblest Reasons, The Last Link Of The Chain All Too Often Drips With Someone's Blood.

All Is Forgotten In The Stone Halls Of The Dead. These Are The Rooms Of Ruin Where The Spiders Spin And The Great Circuits Fall Quiet, One By One.

I Write In The Mornings, In The Bright Daylight. But I Get Most Of My Good Ideas After The Sun Has Gone Down And The Dark Is On The Land.