When I start writing, my unconscious, my conflicts, my thoughts all start to come up. So for me, writing is an exploration. I never know how my stories will end.
Who can judge another man's suffering?
Poppies bleed petals of sheer excess. You and I, this sweet battle ground.
No matter where I was, my compass pointed west. I would always know what time it was in California.
To know I was beautiful in his eyes made me beautiful.
Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.