Mystery. The strangeness of place so necessary to some creative spirits. A perfect mixture of the classical utopia and the pagan mystery.

We are all eaters of souls.

The past is dead and buried. But I know now that buried things have a way of rising to the surface when one least expects them to.

The never-ending competition between writers hasn't changed between 1868 and 2000. I used to belong to writers' workshops with other professionals, but that becomes impossible after a while. Everyone's on a different step of the career ladder. Jealousy doesn't have to erupt into murder and burying someone in Wells Cathedral, but it is always there.

Its hard to die. Harder to live

Words are the light and sound of our existence, the heat lightning by which the night is illuminated.

Life doesn't retreat.