We're Not Saints, Any Of Us. Maybe

When I Was Writing My First Draft, And Feeling Grandiose, I E-mailed An Artist/clothing Designer I Know And Suggested We Collaborate On A Fashion Line Inspired By The Outfits My Characters Wore. I Regret That We Never Did That.

I Wouldn't Be Myself If I Weren't Always Trying To Be Someone Else. I Only Have So Much Time On This Earth And I Want To Be As Many People As Possible.

I Calmed Myself By Walking Into My Nearby Bookstore And Marveling At All The Books Other People Had Written. So Many People Had Finished And Published Novels; It Couldn’t Be So Hard, Right?

As A Writer, You Want To Go Somewhere Else Sometimes. You Want To Vary The Terrain That You're Exploring.

We're Taught To Find The Antecedents To Our Adult Failures In Childhood Traumas, And So We Spend Our Lives Looking Bacwards And Pointing Fingers, Rather Than Bucking Up And Forging Ahead. But What If Your Childhood Was All A Big Misunderstanding? An Elaborate Ruse? What Does That Say About Failure? Better Yet, What Does That Say About Potential?