If writing novels is like planting a forest, then writing short stories is more like planting a garden. The two processes complement each other, creating a complete landscape that I treasure. The green foliage of the trees casts a pleasant shade over the earth, and the wind rustles the leaves, which are sometimes dyed a brilliant gold. Meanwhile, in the garden, buds appear on the flowers, and colorful petals attract bees and butterflies, reminding us of the subtle transition from one season to the next.

When I write about a 15-year old, I jump, I return to the days when I was that age. It's like a time machine. I can remember everything. I can feel the wind. I can smell the air. Very actually. Very vividly.

Understanding is but the sum of misunderstandings.

I move, therefore I am.

The most dangerous creature here would have to be me. So maybe I'm just scared of my own shadow.

When the fire goes out, you'll start feeling the cold. You'll wake up whether you want to or not.

Judging the mistakes of strangers is an easy thing to do - and it feels pretty good.