You Can't Stand Up To The Night

The Magic In This World Seems To Work In Whispers And Small Kindnesses.

There Is No Plan, No Future Laid Out For Any Of Us Beyond What We Make For Ourselves.

We End Up Stumbling Our Way Through The Forest, Never Seeing All The Unexpected And Wonderful Possibilities And Potentials Because We're Looking For The Idea Of A Tree, Instead Of Appreciating The Actual Trees In Front Of Us.

Music's Always Part Of My Writing. I Think All Art Is Interconnected. You Can't Create Or Experience One Without Its Influences Bleeding Into Another. In My Writing, Music's Mostly Something That Feeds My Inspiration And Mood While I'm Writing, But It's Also Taught Me How To Score Scenes And Even Novels. The Rise And Fall Of The Storyline Echoes The Flow Of A Good Piece Of Music.

I've Always Been Aware Of The Otherworld, Of Spirits That Exist In That Twilight Place That Lies In The Corner Of Our Eyes, Of Fairie And Stranger Things Still That We Spy Only When We're Not Really Paying Attention To Them, Whispers And Flickering Shadows, Here One Moment, Gone The Instant We Turn Our Heads For A Closer Look. But I Couldn't Always Find Them. And When I Did, For A Long Time I Thought They Were Only This Excess Of Imagination That I Carry Around Inside Me, That Somehow It Was Leaking Out Of Me Into The World.