Power travels in the bloodlines, handed out before birth.

You know, some people fall right through the hole in their lives. Its invisible, but they come to it after time, never knowing where.

So what is wild? What is wilderness? What are dreams but an internal wilderness and what is desire but a wildness of the soul?

Of course, English is a very powerful language, a colonizer's language and a gift to a writer. English has destroyed and sucked up the languages of other cultures - its cruelty is its vitality.

I am at the bookstore a lot, but let my friends, the professional Birchbark Books staff, handle the day in and day out.

Here I am, where I ought to be. A writer must have a place where he or she feels this, the place to love and be irritated with.

We passed over in a sweep of sorrow that would persist into our small forever. We just keep going.