Even when we know things, sometimes it takes words to make them concrete.

The only characters I've made to resemble real people have been grotesques.

Write. Don't talk about writing. Don't tell me about your wonderful story ideas. Don't give me a bunch of "somedays." Plant your ass and scribble, type, keyboard. If you have any talent at all, it will leak out despite your failure to pay attention in English.

A world ought to have a few genuine good guys, and not just a spectrum of people running from bad to worse.

Morning is wonderful. Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.

I guess I suffer from an impoverishment of the sociopathic spirit necessary to go big time.

I can laugh at peasants and townies chained all their lives to a tiny corner of the earth while I roam its face and see its wonders, but when I go down, there will be no child to carry my name, no family to mourn me save my comrades, no one to remember, no one to raise a marker over my cold bit of ground.