There are a number of paths that lead to this place. I have been avoiding them for some small time, now.

I watch with envious eyes and mind, the single-souled who dare not feel The wind that blows beyond the moon, who do not hear the fairy reel

I was thinking one of the great things about fiction is we, as a race, only get to look out of our own eyes at the world. And fiction is a fantastic way of looking out through somebody else's eyes.

I started writing when I was about 20, 21 maybe.

Life is a rock, but the radio rolled me over.

And, too ignorant to be scared, too young to be awed, Tristan Thorn traveled beyond the fields we know.

However you must have sensed a lurking 'but' skulking beneath my happy, blithe, and chipper exterior. A minuscule vexation, like the teeniest lump of raw liver sticking to the inside of my boot.