I Like To Assume That Since I

He Looked At Her Rather As A Man Looks At A Problem That He Would Very Much Prefer To Do Without. She Supposed It Was A Distinction Of A Sort To Be A Harassment To A King.

The Story Is Always Better Than Your Ability To Write It. My Belief About This Is That If You Ever Get To The Point That You Think You've Done A Story Justice, You're In The Wrong Business.

So, What Do You Do When You Know You Have Two Days To Live? Eat An Entire Bitter Chocolate Death Cake All By Myself. Reread My Favorite Novel. Buy Eight Dozen Roses From The Best Florist In Town--the Super Expensive Ones, The Ones That Smell Like Roses Rather Than Merely Looking Like Them--and Put Them All Over My Apartment. Take A Good Long Look At Everyone I Love.

One Of The Biggest, And Possibly The Biggest, Obstacle To Becoming A Writer... Is Learning To Live With The Fact That The Wonderful Story In Your Head Is Infinitely Better, Truer, More Moving, More Fascinating, More Perceptive, Than Anything You're Going To Manage To Get Down On Paper.

What You Describe Is How It Happens To Everyone: Magic Does Slide Through You, And Disappear, And Come Back Later Looking Like Something Else. And I'm Sorry To Tell You This, But Where Your Magic Lives Will Always Be A Great Dark Space With Scraps You Fumble For. You Must Learn To Sniff Them Out In The Dark.