The writer's first affinity is not to a loyalty, a tradition, a morality, a religion, but to life itself, and to its representation in language.
I wish I had more time to write.
Smoke veils the air like souls in drifting suspension, declining the war's insistence everyone move on.
Love is the outlaw's duty.
I write line by line, by the sound and the weight and the music of the words.
Towns change; they grow or diminish, but hometowns remain as we left them.