I left Montana in Spring of 1866, for Utah, arriving at Salt Lake city during the summer.
“I'm a masochist in some ways. I look for things that I think I can't do, then, for some bizarre reason, I really want to do them. Maybe one day I'll take the easy route.”
“Then I thought I was going to be a photographer. I tried a hand at darkroom technician. I played in a band. It took me quite some time to discover that I wanted to write.”