This is the day of wonders. The land is covered with trees like a head with hair and behind the ship the sun rises tipping the top trees with light. The sky is clear and shining as a china plate and the water playfully ruffled with wind. Every wisp of fog is gone and the air is full of the resinous smell of the trees. Seabirds are flashing above the sails golden like creatures from Heaven, but the sailors raise a few shots to keep them from the rigging.

Now i no longer believe that people's secrets are defined and communicable, or their feelings full-blown and easy to recognize.

I want my stories to move people ... to feel some kind of reward from the writing.

Why is it a surprise to find that people other than ourselves are able to tell lies?

Luck took me right out of myself - I read it in one gulp, and it never let me down. Sharp and surprising but always responsible, no tricks for tricks' sake; so satisfying, with its shifting and puzzles. So much fiction turns out to be diversion, in spite of fancy claims, and doesn't really look at anything. Well - this does.

That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings.

People have thoughts they’d sooner not have. It happens in life.