Maybe the reason I've never died in this story is that I've never had something worth dying for before.

There are some things, I think, you're btter off not remembering.

To me, a good event is governed by the audience.

You would wind up as a cat, I told her. They don't need anyone else. I need you, she replied. Well, I said. Maybe I'll come back as catnip.

If you don't believe in yourself, and you don't have the fortitude to make that dream happen, why should the hotshots in the publishing world take a chance on you? I don't believe that you need an MFA to be a writer, but I do think you need to take some good workshops.

But will you miss me? More importantly - will I miss you? Does either one of us really want to hear the answer to that question?

You're unwilling to go out on a limb because it just might break underneath you.