It Hadn't Even Occured To Me That

Usually When I Finish The Draft Of A Book, I'm Sure I'll Never Write Another One. I'm Just That Tired And Sick Of Myself. But Then Another Idea Starts Percolating. It Usually Begins With The Narrator's Name, Then Some Idea That Intrigues Me About Her Life Or Situation. I Try To Ignore It As Long As I Can, Because I Know When I Start Writing, I'll Be Right Back Into It, Every Single Day. But Eventually, I Just Have To. It's A Compulsion!

It Wasn’t So Much That I Was Positive. I Just Wasn’t Fully Subscribing To Such A Negative Way Of Thinking Anymore.

That First Love. And The First One Who Breaks Your Heart. For Me, They Just Happen To Be The Same Person.

You Punched Him By Accident.

There Was Something Striking About A Single Key. It Was Like A Question Waiting To Be Answered, A Whole Missing A Half. Useless On Its Own, Needing Something Else To Be Truly Defined.