I don't really know how to do much else besides write.

I need - and occasionally love - to write for the same reasons I always did: hard as writing is, it's generally easier than life.

There's no deodorant for desperation.

I think it's just too kinda juicy and compelling to imagine people in their private lives, but then half the time people's private lives are just so much more bizarre and Ted Haggard-like than you could ever imagine. It's almost hard to write fiction anymore.

The art and act of writing - speaking just for myself - involves getting your proverbial ass in the proverbial chair.

A waft of sweet hash drifted by, and I wanted to float after it like Wimpy levitating at the scent of a hamburger.

I always figured I myself would never be lucky enough to die, I'd just live on and on in this increasingly dreary spiral.