Good Days, They Come Around The Oddest

The Tunnels Of Our Lives Connect, Coming To Daylight At The Oddest Moments, And Then Plunge Us Into The Dark Again. We Return To The Lives Of Those Who Have Gone Before Us, A Perplexing Möbius Strip Until We Come Home, Eventually, To Ourselves.

She Was Forever Tilted Sideways By The Notion That Pain Was Inevitable, Chance Was Cruel, And All Human Ingenuity Should Go Towards The Making Of A Good Cup Of Tea.

What Corrigan Wanted Was A Fully Believable God, One You Could Find In The Grime Of The Everyday... He Consoled Himself With The Fact That, In The Real World, When He Looked Closely Into The Darkness He Might Find The Presence Of A Light, Damaged And Bruised, But A Little Light All The Same. He Wanted, Quite Simply, For The World To Be A Better Place, And He Was In The Habit Of Hoping For It.

Personally, I Like The Social Novel. I Like Writing That Gets In And Under The Hood And Looks About - At What's Going On. But I Don't Say To Any Writer That That's Absolutely What They Should Do.

I Want The Younger Writer To Know That She Or He Is Meaningful, That What They Have To Say Is Powerful In This World. But They Can't Come Indoors, They Can't Close The Curtains, They Can't, Like, Lock Themselves Away From The World And Say Nothing.