And when he got home he started on Mumma. He hated her then, because in her fatness and untidiness and drabness she reminded him of what he himself was when he was sober.

He who climbs a cliff may die on the cliff, so what? Always a risk-taker by nature, now I became one by intent.

In a still hot morning, the tide went out and didn’t come back in. This was not a spectacular event. The sea did not roll up like a scroll, like the sky in Revelations. It...

Writing is a passion I have never understood, yet a storyteller is all I have ever wanted to be.

The world is full of novels in which characters simply say and do. There are certainly legitimate genres in which this is sufficient. But in real and lasting writing the character is.