IMG_2428Why would you write a novel that consists entirely of other writers’ sentences? Why not write your own?

I’m an adopter, not a breeder.  I think I have a moral obligation to care for what already exists and not spread my seed far and wide further populating and confusing an already overpopulated, excessively chaotic universe.  Why add more sentences to the mix when you can recycle perfectly good ones that are readily available and often sadly neglected? It’s a way of putting one’s library to use. I’ve been collecting books for more than half my life, and they were crying out to me.

An Honest GhostOur True Nature

Now that the nights were so hot I went to bed late. At night this road is unlit, desolate, anonymous; it exists not on earth but as a path among clouds, miles from everywhere; an infinity separates it from the sleepers who snore in the small indistinguishable houses on either of its sides. Cars were rare and there were stars at night. The black cattle were grazing just beyond the fence; and the chains around the necks of the aristocrats among them tinkled in the darkness. Night music. Most of the houses on the back roads were inhabited by childless couples or old bachelors or widows living alone. But the people who thrive here—and there aren’t many of them—are an interesting species.