You were my home, Mother. I had no home but you

The stupid things you say in the rain, that can't ever be washed away.

That was the thing about words, they were clear and specific-chair, eye, stone- but when you talked about feelings, words were too stiff, they were this and not that, they couldn't include all the meanings. In defining, they always left something out.

If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration.

As an artist, you can never get what you want. What you do never approaches what you want it to be.

Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.

Appealing to the five senses is the feature that will always set writing apart from the visual media. A good writer will tell us what the world smells like, what the textures are, what the sounds are, what the light looks like, what the weather is.