I Don't Know Why, But Life Is

A Lot Of Writers Fall In Love With Their Sentences Or Their Construction Of Sentences, And Sometimes That's Great, But Not Everybody Is Gabriel Garcia Marquez Or James Joyce. A Lot Of People Like To Pretend That They Are, And They Wind Up Not Giving People A Good Read Or Enlightening Them.

In My Office In Florida I Have, I Think, 30 Manuscript Piles Around The Room. Some Are Screenplays Or Comic Books Or Graphic Novels. Some Are Almost Done. Some I'm Rewriting. If I'm Working With A Co-writer, They'll Usually Write The First Draft. And Then I Write Subsequent Drafts.

We Went Back To The Weird Institute Building. At Night There Was A Lot More Activity. Erasers Coming In Non-stop. Nice Cars, Nice Clothes, Nice Smug Faces (that I Wanted To Smash!). -fang's Blog

I Feel Like I'm Going To Hurl. Which, Even If I Wanted To Do, I Couldn't Do, Because I Haven't Eaten. I Can't Even Drag Myself Out Of My Room. And While I'd Be Able To Muster The Strength To Roundhouse Fang Until He Begged For Mercy, I'de Be Mush Around An Eraser.

When My Son, Jack, Was Four, I Had To Make A Trip To Los Angeles. I Asked Him If He Was Going To Miss Me. 'not So Much,' Jack Told Me. 'you're Not Going To Miss Me?' I Said. Jack Shook His Head, And He Said, 'love Means You Can Never Be Apart.