When all of us are forgotten, people will still be remembering Stephen King.
Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.
Gertrude Stein really thought of Hemingway as frail. He almost married Stein.
DeLillo never seems committed to me to what he is writing. Very nice surfaces, but he's got nothing underneath.
The reason Saul Bellow doesn't talk to me anymore is because he knows his new novels are not worth reading.
Critics? How do they happen? I know how it happened to me. I would send a poem or story to a magazine and they would say this doesn't suit our needs precisely but on the other hand you sound interesting. Would you be interested in doing a review?