Probably" is a word with an emergency ejector seat.
It's a small world. It keeps recrossing itself.
The body is the outermost layer of the mind.
For me, novels coalesce into being, rather than arrive fully formed.
When I think about it, I'm happily bewildered that people will preorder my books They'll preorder me. What a lucky guy!
As many truths as men. Occasionally, I glimpse a truer Truth, hiding in imperfect simulacrums of itself, but as I approach, it bestirs itself & moves deeper into the thorny swamp of dissent.