What happens to the rest of something when you smash its heart?

When you live in a city with no stars to wish on, you have to wish on each other.

Writing is literally transformative. When we read, we are changed. When we write, we are changed. It's neurological. To me, this is a kind of magic.

His own voice was older than he was. Ancient, unearthed from some mystical subterranean place...The voice seemed to make his whole body ache. Maybe it made him bleed inside. I wondered if it hurt, if it burned in his throat.

Love is a dangerous angel.

Write with abandon and no constraints for first draft. Cut brutally and save in separate files on second draft. Add conflict; don't be afraid to make your characters suffer. Read what you love. Write what you love. Love.

Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.