Writing Can Teach Us The Dignity Of

Life Is Not Orderly. No Matter How We Try To Make Life So, Right In The Middle Of It We Die, Lose A Leg, Fall In Love, Drop A Jar Of Applesauce. In Summer, We Work Hard To Make A Tidy Garden, Bordered By Pansies With Rows Or Clumps Of Columbine, Petunias, Bleeding Hearts. Then We Find Ourselves Longing For The Forest, Where Everything Has The Appearance Of Disorder; Yet We Feel Peaceful There.

Understand That Writing Is Like An Athletic Activity. To Play Tennis Well, You Expect To Keep Practicing, But For Some Reason With Writing, You Think You Should Come Out Fresh The First Time.

I Had Cancer For Fourteen Months And Wrote A Memoir About The Experience.

I Told All Kinds Of Stories About Going To Japan, About Playing Ball With My Father... I Wanted To Record My Life In Case It Was Going To End Soon. So, I Wrote That And It Was Very Comforting To Have That Practice In The Afternoons In My Living Room. I Just Wrote About My Life.

Whether We Know It Or Not, We Transmit The Presence Of Everyone We Have Ever Known, As Though By Being In Each Other's Presence We Exchange Our Cells, Pass On Some Of Our Lifeforce, And Then We Go On Carrying That Person In Our Body, Not Unlike Springtime When Certain Plants In Fields We Walk Through Attach Their Seeds In The Form Of Small Burrs To Our Socks, Our Pants, Our Caps, As If To Say, 'go On, Take Us With You, Carry Us To Root In Another Place.' This Is How We Survive Long After We Are Dead. This Is Why It Is Important Who We Become, Because We Pass It On.