I Am Tired Of Trying To Hold

At The Center, Where A Cuckoo Bird Would Live In A More Traditional Timepiece, Is The Juggler. Dressed In Harlequin Style With A Grey Mask, He Juggles Shiny Silver Balls That Correspond To Each Hour. As The Clock Chimes, Another Ball Joins The Rest Until At Midnight He Juggles Twelve Balls In A Complex Pattern. After Midnight The Clock Begins Once More To Fold In Upon Itself. The Face Lightens And The Clouds Return. The Number Of Juggled Balls Decreases Until The Juggler Himself Vanishes. By Noon It Is A Clock Again, And No Longer A Dream.

I Do Not See As Well Without Her. I Do Not Hear As Well Without Her. I Do Not Feel As Well Without Her. I Would Be Better Off Without A Hand Or A Leg Than Without My Sister.

The Truest Tales Require Time And Familiarity To Become What They Are.

I Don't Have Any Particular Rituals, I Sometimes Like To Write In Longhand When I'm Searching For Ideas But I Do The Vast Majority By Typing, I Can't Always Keep Up With My Thoughts Longhand. I'm Not A Coffee Shop Writer Because I Feel Obliged To Order More Coffee And Then I End Up Over-caffeinated.

It's Helpful For Me To Get Ideas - The Physical Action Of Painting. Sometimes It Frees Up Your Writer Brain. It's Nice For Me Now That The Writing Has Become A Serious Career That Painting Can Become More Like A Hobby.