A Conclusion Is Simply The Place Where

For The Last Few Years I've Tried To Force Myself To Write At Least One Page Every Day, Which Doesn't Sound Like Much But It's Actually Pretty Hard To Manage. Because I'm Not Allowed To Do A Make-up Day. I Can't Do Two Pages The Next Day. The Punishment For Not Completing My Page Is That I Have To Eat A Vegetarian Meal The Next Day.

The Happiest I Have Ever Been Is In The Life That I Led With My Wife And Kids.

I Can't Understand How People Can Settle For Having Just One Life. I Remember We Were In English Class And We Were Talking About That Poem By - That One Guy. David Frost. 'two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood-' You Know This Poem, Right? 'two Roads Diverged In A Yellow Wood, And Sorry I Could Not Travel Both And Be One Traveler, Long I Stood And Looked Down One As Far As I Could, To Where It Bent In The Undergrowth-" "i Loved That Poem. But I Remember Thinking To Myself: Why? How Come You Can't Travel Both? That Seemed Really Unfair To Me.

I Never Could Figure Out How Those People Like Bukowski Could Be Both Carousers And Writers At The Same Time, Because To Me Writing Takes As Much Destructive Energy As It Takes To Be A Really Good Professional Drunk.

In Some Ways All Of My Fiction Is Like A Conversation I'm Having With The Writers I Read When I Was First Falling In Love With Books.