There Is Something About The Human Condition.

My Process Is Surprisingly Straightforward. I Find Myself With Little To Do Over A Stretch Of Time And I Say, "i Should Write Children's Books Today." Then I Sit Down And Write A Children's Book, And If It Takes More Than, Realistically, Three Hours, I Feel Like I've Done Something Wrong.

It Doesn't Matter What You're Chasing, When You Get There You're Gonna Be Like, "oh, Is This All? It Kind Of Sucks."

I Imagine There's A Level Of Narcissism That Goes Into Thinking You're Enough.

There Is No Word For Feeling Nostalgic About The Future, But That's What A Parent's Tears Often Are, A Nostalgia For Something That Has Not Yet Occurred. They Are The Pain Of Hope, The Helplessness Of Hope, And Finally, The Surrender To Hope.

Sometimes The Criticism Is Actually Useful And Constructive And Actually Informs What I Do, But Most Of The Time, It's Sort Of Mindless, Or They're Receiving Something On A Different Frequency Than I Was Sending It. They're Just Not Getting What I'm Doing, And That's Fine.