If I couldn't write worth a damn, I think I'd like toown a hardware store. I've long been fascinated by theenormous varieties of tools used to maintain our society,as well as the clips, hinges, pins, brads, screws, pulleys,wires, chains, clamps and pipes that hold it together. Notto mention the putty, piaster, cement and paint that keepit looking well io places. Even more than a book store,where I probably wouldn't get to read much anyway, Ibelieve that I could have been fairly happy m a goodgeneral hardware shop, But then, I would probably open late and stay openlate because I'm a night person- I prefer sunsets to sunrises. I pick up steam in the late hours. I've probablydone most of my best writing after midnight.

There is a group of writers living within about a 100mile diameter circle around here who get together once amonth for lunch. On one such occasion, Stephen Donaldson asked me what book by someone else I wished I hadwritten. I gave him a quick answer which seemed appropriate at the moment. I thought about it later, though,and changed my mind. Something like War and Peace orUlysses, while impressive or dazzling, massively tragic orcomic and invested with tons of scholarly and lay manawould only be egotistical choices, not things that I couldhave enjoyed writing as well as enjoyed having written—if I were able. I got it down to two books—one tragic,one comic — and I couldn't decide between them: Malraux's Man's Fate and Norman Douglas' South Wind. Ihave nothing deeply philosophical to say about either ofthem here, just a wistful bit of self-revelation and anattempt to answer Steve's question honestly in a placewhere I am talking about myself, anyway.

The most encouraging thing I have seen in recent yearswas nothing at all. That is to say, nothing where I hadexpected to see something. Back m 1975, I visited Trinity