Luck Is Luck ... What We Do

If Something Isn't Special, Then It's Ordinary.

Phillip Look Into Ray's Eyes. He Saw Compassion And Hope. And He Saw Himself Mirrored Back, Bleeding In A Dirty Gutter On A Street Where Life Was Worth Less Than A Dime Bag. Sick, Tired, Petrified, Phillip Dropped His Head Into His Hands. "what's The Point?" "you're The Point, Son." Ray Ran His Hand Over Phillip's Hair. "you're The Point.

You're Going To Blow His Socks Off!

Look, If Some Guy Dressed In His Mother's Clothes Breaks In, Fight Him Off Until I Get My Pants Back On.

I Don't Let Myself Believe In Writer's Block. I Feel Very Strongly Writing Is Habit As Much As An Art Or A Craft. And If You Write Crap, You're Still Writing.