The Wind Always Brings Us Back To

I'm Not Sure I Believe In The Whole 'ghost-afterlife' Thing, But I Think Places Are Marked By People Who Have Been There.

All Those Moments, Those Memories. Everything That We Are, Compressed In Just Two Or Three Kilos Of Paper — The Weight Of A Human Heart.

I Like Autumn. The Drama Of It; The Golden Lion Roaring Through The Back Door Of The Year, Shaking Its Mane Of Leaves. A Dangerous Time; Of Violent Rages And Deceptive Calm, Of Fireworks In The Pockets And Conkers In The Fist.

If You Can Still Write In Spite Of The Fact That You're Not Getting Paid, That Nobody Cares About What You're Writing, That Nobody Wants To Publish It, That Everybody Is Telling You To Do Something Else, And You Still Want To And You Still Enjoy It And You Can't Stop Doing It...then You're A Writer.

Change Isn't Always Comfortable, But It Is A Fact Of Life.