In my long, long years toiling around the publishing industry, I've found that women simply don't stick to the writing with the same fervor that men do.

I think that any time a person comes face-to-face with their own mortality - close enough to Death that they can smell its breath - they have a choice: 1) Fall to pieces; 2) Reassemble yourself and keep walking.

Anyone who's ever had the misfortune of seeing me interact with house pets knows I have a wickedly strong paternal instinct bordering on the maternal.

It amazes me that some people who ordinarily can recognize autocratic bullying, tacky sloganeering, and - especially - camp value are unable to spot it in this Hate Scare that grips the Western world.

There were people whom I considered friends or loved ones who either abandoned me or betrayed me in ways I'd never have suspected. But there were others who had been barely acquaintances of mine whose loyalty and efforts on my behalf made me realize that not everyone was as inherently rotten as I'd previously believed. So it caused a violent split in my view of humanity - people turned out to be far worse and far better than I'd ever dreamed possible.

My hatred is diamond-hard.

The criticism that has most consistently bothered me is the allegation that I'm a schlockmeister whose only objective is to shock people.