In The End, Fiction Is The Craft

Even Still, We Run. We Have Not Reached Our Average Of 57.92 Years Without Knowing That You Run Through It, And It Hurts And You Run Through It Some More, And If It Hurts Worse, You Run Through It Even More, And When You Finish, You Will Have Broken Through. In The End, When You Are Done, And Stretching, And Your Heartbeat Slows, And Your Sweat Dries, If You've Run Through The Hard Part, You Will Remember No Pain.

Sometimes I Read A Biography Of Some Tempestuous Artist And Find Myself Longing For Fireworks! Booze! Bloody Fights!; I Do Think That Life Must Be So Much More Thrilling When You're Actively Miserable.

It's Wonderful That Nothing You Write Is Ever Going To Be As Beautiful As What's In Your Head, Because That Gap Is Where The Art Can Enter And Begin To Stretch Its Limbs.

I've Never Wanted To Chuck My Mortgage, Drop The Kids Off At Their Grandparents' And Run Gloriously Naked In Fields Of Flax.

As A Person, I Do Ascribe To A Lot Of Magical Thinking Myself.