There is something unwholesome and destructive about the entire writing process.

One writes to find words' meanings.

Good writing never soothes or comforts. It is no prescription, neither is it diversionary, although it can and should enchant while it explodes in the reader's face.

The story knows itself better than the writer does at some point, knows what's being said before the writer figures out how to say it.

Nothing the writer can do is ever enough.

A side benefit of the new and developing technologies is that soon we won't have to feel guilty about the suffering and denigration of the animals because we will have made them up.

Why does the writer write? The writer writes to serve--hopeless ly he writes in the hope that he might serve--not himself and not others, but that great cold elemental grace that knows us.