I found out about reviews early on. They’re mostly written by sad men on bad afternoons. That’s probably why I’m less angry than some writers who are so narcissistic they consider every line of every review even a thoughtful one as major treason.
I don’t write under the ghost of Faulkner. I live in the same town and find his life and work inspiring but that’s it. I have a motorcycle and tool along the country lanes. I travel at my own speed.
I lost my second marriage because of drinking and I loved the woman very much. But I thought I needed booze to write. I’m glad I was disabused.