I Was Neither Black Enough For The

To An Outsider, I Just Seem Like A List Of Accomplishments. To Me, All There Is Is How Often I Fail.

Anger Has A Way Of Returning.

My Novel, Which I Had Started With Such Hope Shortly After Publishing My First Book Of Stories, Wouldn't Budge Past The 75-page Mark. Nothing I Wrote Past Page 75 Made Any Kind Of Sense. Nothing. Which Would Have Been Fine If The First 75 Pages Hadn't Been Pretty Damn Cool.

I'm Having So Much Trouble With Writing. Maybe If I Help Other People, It'll Be Easier For Me.

I Sat Down Next To Her. Took Her Hand. This Can Work, I Said. All We Have To Do Is Try.