Why Am I In Hell? It Hurts.

I Write Every Day, For Most Of The Day, So It's Just About Turning Into Metaphor Whatever's Going On In My Life, In The World, And In My Head. Every Nightmare, Every Moment Of Grief Or Joy Or Failure, Is A Moment I Can Convert Into Cash Via Words. I Use Everything. Turning Life Into Stories Is How I Make Sense Of My Experience.

Kipling: Where's Your Sense Of Humor? Rebis: We're Working On Reconstructing It.

Why Did You Make It So Hard For Me? I'd Rather Empty The Ocean With A Sieve. I Do It For You. Or Count The Grains Of Sand On Every Beach. All For You. There Are So Many People, So Many Countries. But I Have Time. All The Time In The World. Eternity.

I Write Constantly, So It Flows From One Project To The Next, And I Would Edit Everything Endlessly If I Had The Chance. I Can Always See Ways To Improve What I've Done. At The Same Time, Knowing It's All An Ongoing Life's Work Allows Me To Be Less Precious About Blind Alleys, Failed Experiments, And Misfires.

It's So Horrible To Realize You're Just The Same As Everyone Else, Isn't It?