Develop Your Pawns Or Hulk Will Smash.

But The Day I Can't Shrug Off A Twinge Of Self-pity, Is The Day I'm Washed Up For Keeps.

The Past Is Still Visible. The Buildings Haven't Changed, The Layout Of The Streets Hasn't Changed. So Memory Is Very Available To Me As I Walk Around.

I Try To Write Every Day. I Don't Beat Myself Up About Word Counts, Or How Many Hours Are Ticking By On The Clock Before I'm Allowed To Go And Do Something Else. I Just Try To Keep A Hand In And Work Every Single Day, Even If There Are Other Demands Or I'm On A Book Tour Or Have The Flu Or Something, Because Then I Keep My Unconscious Engaged With The Book. Then I'm Always A Little Bit Writing, No Matter What Else I'm Doing.

You Discovered Yourself And What Really Mattered Only After You Passed Through The Lens Of The Fairy Tale, Imposed On Every Human Female And Male Alike, That Someone Existed Out In The Forest Of The World For You To Love And Marry.

I'm A Firm Believer That There Are No Rules In Art. Every Trajectory Is Different.