They do good things for us, the bats. But we do not want them there.
I worry that I will be kidnapped by my cab driver and driven to an ATM.
Ten lo,” she says when you’ve finished. Have it.
Writing is a subversive activity that exempts you from the rules.
It was the sixties, and I was in college and incredibly restless.
Our lives are often shaped by small, seemingly trivial choices.
I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.
My advice can be succinctly expressed in three words: Persist, persist, persist!
Getting answers is easy. The difficult thing is knowing the right questions.
I am always hungry & wanting to have sex. This is a fact.
If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.
To see—and to see properly—is the writer’s central responsibility.
Follow your dog, and you might just live to write for another day.
You can get anyone to sleep with you—if you want it bad enough.
Abandon the idea that arts and sciences are mutually exclusive.
Needless to say, when it was my night to read I was beyond terrified.
Reviewers are curs and their opinions are not to be taken seriously.
It holds a place in my heart: Never forget the suspenders.
Truths don’t eclipse each other—they only complicate each other.
His hands were the last to go under, pressed together into a little steeple.
I asked for water, and he shot me a look of henpecked resentment.
We loaded the packs and started down, into the bluing of dusk.
This Lee was a woman, and she was a painter, and she was good.
The story doesn’t begin until the van breaks down, I always say.
The store was one of his last-ditch efforts to make a pile of money.
Words and sketches from Gail Godwin’s upcoming novel Flora.
Handwritten drafts of “Byzantium,” “Easter, 1916,” and other poems.