Since My First Novel Was Rescued From

A Novel Is Not Born Of A Single Idea. The Stories I've Tried To Write From One Idea, No Matter How Terrific An Idea, Have Sputtered Out And Died By Chapter Three. For Me, Novels Have Invariably Come From A Complex Of Ideas That In The Beginning Seemed To Bear No Relation To Each Other, But In The Unconscious Began Mysteriously To Merge And Grow. Ideas For A Novel Are Like The Strong Guy Lines Of A Spider Web. Without Them The Silken Web Cannot Be Spun.

A Library Is A Feast To Which We Are All Invited.

This Is What Art Is All About. It Is Weaving Fabric From The Feathers You Have Plucked From Your Own Breast. But No One Must Ever See The Process - Only The Finished Bolt Of Goods. They Must Never Suspect That That Crimson Thread Running Through The Pattern Is Blood.

It Is Not Enough To Simply Teach Children To Read; We Have To Give Them Something Worth Reading. Something That Will Stretch Their Imaginations- Something That Will Help Them Make Sense Of Their Own Lives And Encourage Them To Reach Out Toward People Whose Lives Are Quite Different From Their Own.

Miss Edmunds Was One Of His Secrets. He Was In Love With Her. Not The Kind Of Silly Stuff Ellie And Brenda Giggled About On The Telephone. This Was Too Real And Too Deep To Talk About, Even To Think About Very Much.