Today Is Just One Of Those Days

When I See People Talking On The Internet About Me Or My Work It's Almost Always More A Description Of Themselves And So I Never Really Think Of Myself As Anything More Than Just Who I Always Was.

I'm Not Sure What We're Running From. Nobody. Or The Future. Fate. Growing Up. Getting Old. Picking Up The Pieces. As If Running We Won't Have To Get On With Our Lives.

Everything Is Still Falling Apart.

In A World Where Billions Believe Their Deity Conceived A Mortal Child With A Virgin Human, It's Stunning How Little Imagination Most People Display.

I Remember Selling My First Short Story And Thinking, Oh My God, I Sold Something For Fifty Dollars! That Gives Me The Authority To Say I'm A Writer And To Actually Write More Things! It Legitimized The Activity.