Writing has so much to give, so much to teach, so many surprises.

Grief, as I read somewhere once, is a lazy Susan. One day it is heavy and underwater, and the next day it spins and stops at loud and rageful, and the next day at wounded keening, and the next day numbness, silence.

Rest and laughter are the most spiritual and subversive acts of all. Laugh, rest, slow down.

They believe that if they do get published, a wonderful new life is in store. It will turn out that deep down they are really valuable people and will have lots of money from now on and really cool people like Ethan Hawke will be dropping by all the time. But it's a lie. Being a published writer will make them long to be ONLY as mentally ill as they are now. Their current level of obsession and doubt and self-loathing will look like the good old days. Honest.

We're out there somewhere between the known and the unknown, trying to reel in both for a closer look.

Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.

I get thirsty people glasses of water, even if that thirsty person is just me.