No wonder, he thought, that the panhandle people were a godly lot, for they lived in sudden, violent atmospheres. Weather kept them humble.

Walking on the land or digging in the fine soil I am intensely aware that time quivers slightly, changes occurring in imperceptible and minute ways, accumulating so subtly that they seem not to exist. Yet the tiny shifts in everything--cell replication, the rain of dust motes, lengthening hair, wind-pushed rocks--press inexorably on and on.

I find it satisfying and intellectually stimulating to work with the intensity, brevity, balance and word play of the short story.

Wonderful ... I was up all night reading it, laughing and crying out in horror.

Anyway, there's something wrong with everybody and it's up to you to know what you can handle.

No wonder, he thought, that the panhandle people were a godly lot, for they lived in sudden, violent atmospheres. Weather kept them humble.

It's easier to die if others around you are dying.