When I graduated from high school, it was during the Depression and we had no money.

No," said a voice, "the only thing wrong on a night like that is that there is a world and you must come back to it.

Think of Shakespeare and Melville and you think of thunder, lightning, wind. They all knew the joy of creating in large or small forms, on unlimited or restricted canvases. These are the children of the gods.

Let the world burn through you. Throw the prism light, white hot, on paper.

Don't talk about it; write.

Fame and money are gifts given to us only after we have gifted the world with our best, our lonely, our individual truths.

I've never been in charge of my stories, they've always been in charge of me. As each new one has called to me, ordering me to give it voice and form and life, I've followed the advice I've shared with other writers over the years: jump off the cliff and build your wings on the way down.