Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.

Enough white lies can scorch the earth black.

I wish people were willing to dig a little deeper than the surface elements of a premise before tossing one story in with another.

We smile, because this is how we save the world.

It's rare that I read more than two or three books by any one author, usually only one.

Now I’m just standing here on the conveyor. Along for the ride. I reach the end, turn around, and go back the other way. The world has been distilled. Being dead is easy. After a few hours of this, I notice a female on the opposite conveyor. She doesn’t lurch or groan like most of us. Her head just lolls from side to side. I like that about her. That she doesn’t lurch or groan. I catch her eye and stare at her.