Can we really choose anything?' 'Maybe. If we want to bad enough.

But I'm not afraid of the skeletons in Julie's closet. I look forward to meeting the rest of them, looking them hard in the eye, giving them firm, bone-crunching handshakes.

The shadows of the room pool in the lines of our faces, draining our eyes of hue. "There's nothing left worth saying.

Warm Bodies ended up becoming one of the most personal relatable things I've written.

I used to split my time between writing, music and painting. I would work on a book and then abandon it, start a band, do an album, quit music, then do a gallery show. Eventually I decided to give writing a serious shot.

Are my words ever actually audible, or do they just echo in my head while people stare at me, waiting?

Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.