Only Bad Writers Think They're Good.

I Still Try To Make The "next" Book My "best" Book. I Want To Grip And Move You In Unexpected Ways.

No, I Don’t Live In Heartache. I Don’t Cry Myself To Sleep Or Any Of That. I Am, I Tell Myself, Over It. But I Do Feel A Void, Icky As That Sounds. And—like It Or Not—i Still Think About Her Every Single Day.

Sure, On A Larger Scale, It Was Healthy To Have People Out There You Cared About More Than Yourself. She Knew That. But Then There Was The Abject Fear You Would Lose It. They Say Possessions Own You. Not So. Loved Ones Own You. You Are Forever Held Hostage Once You Care So Much.

There Are Three Things That Make A Person A Writer: Inspiration, Perspiration And Desperation.

Painful Memories Didn't Just Ease Back In-they Shoved The Door Open Hard, All Of Them And All At Once