I did not set out to write another novel. One day I sat down with the thought of trying my hand at a piece of nonfiction, a personal memoir of youth, but over the next several weeks, without intending it, the work began evolving into what has become 'Tomcat in Love.

I was a coward. I went to the war.

They carried the sky. The whole atmosphere, they carried it, the humidity, the monsoons, the stink of fungus and decay, all of it, they carried gravity.

They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.

But in a story, which is a kind of dreaming, the dead sometimes smile and sit up and return to the world.

Imagination, like reality, has its limits.

Everything was such a damned nice idea when it was an idea.