Lately I've been forced to consider where on the evolutionary scale I would feel most comfortable. I've suspected for a long time now that in the Paleolithic age, where I [...]
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In the middle of Frank Delaney’s novel Ireland, an engaging 560-page narrative about Ireland and Irish storytellers, there’s one paragraph that jumped off the page at me and said “Take me home with you.” Or perhaps it whispered “Kiss me, I’m Irish.” Whatever. But it’s a memorable paragraph for all writers, and readers, and here it is.

A story has only one master—its narrator; he decides what he wants his story to do. I know, I have always known, what I want my stories to achieve—I want to make people believe. Believe what I tell. Believe in it. Believe me. Belief is the one effect I’m always looking for, and I apply every device, every pause, every gesture, every verbal nuance and twirl, to that end. To achieve it, I myself have to believe; if I don’t, who will? I must believe ancient Ireland was as I describe it. The swords really did ring loudly off the shields. And the armor surely gleamed in the sun.

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Last Thursday morning I had the opportunity to read and speak at Farrington High School, as part of the Farrington Library's visiting writers program. The [...]
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After writing this week about killer cliches, and then about a character whose great obsession is the disturbing preposition in the phrase “in Maui,” I was going to plunge once more into the dark seas of murky language. But then the Hawaii weather turned crisp and clear, I began listening to the words of some of my favorite Christmas music, and I decided not to take the plunge.

Instead I took out “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” and surrendered to the magical words of Dylan Thomas. I don’t want to talk about this classic, I just want to experience it, again.

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