I Think The Reason My Stories Have

He Says I'm A Regular Onion! I Keep Him Busy Peeling Away The Layers.

How Do You Get So Empty? Who Takes It Out Of You?

You've Got To Jump Off Cliffs And Build Your Wings On The Way Down.

Your Intuition Knows What To Write, So Get Out Of The Way.

He Lay Far Across The Room From Her, On A Winter Island Separated By An Empty Sea. She Talked To Him For What Seemed A Long While And She Talked About This And She Talked About That And It Was Only Words, Like The Words He Had Heard Once In A Nursery At A Friend's House, A Two-year-old Child Building Word Patters, Like Jargon, Making Pretty Sounds In The Air.