Actually I’m terrible at plotting, so all I do is sort of put people in motion and they go around in a circle and they generally end up about where they started out. That’s a Le Guin plot.

An awful lot of writing seems to be sitting and staring.

It’s a Gordian knot which I have no wish to cut. It’s obvious there’s going to be no future without the past and no past without the future. I get rather Chinese about the whole thing.

But you have to get started, apparently, in a box, with a label. Then you can break out of the box.

Anybody can hear a story, or read a myth, that hits something deep within them. The ones you remember are the ones that reflect something deep within yourself, which you probably can’t put into words, except maybe as a myth.

“We live in capitalism, its power seems inescapable—but then, so did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art. Very often in our art, the art of words.”

Two people can do three fulltime jobs—teaching, writing and family.

Isn’t the real question this: Is the work worth doing? Am I, a human being, working for what I really need and want—or for what the State or the advertisers tell me I want? Do I choose? I think that’s what anarchism comes down to. Do I let my choices be made for me, and so go along with the power game, or do I choose, and accept the responsibility

A city is where all dangers come together for human beings, where everything happens to human beings. I use “city” in a fairly metaphorical sense. A city is where culture comes together and flowers. A pueblo is a city.