When life sucks, read. They can't yell at you for that. And if they do, then you can ignore them.

When life sucks, read. They can't yell at you for that. And if they do, then you can ignore them.

I make it through the first two weeks of school without a nuclear meltdown.

I can’t tell anymore when I’m asleep and when I’m awake, or which is worse.

I see a girl caught in the remains of a holiday gone bad, with her flesh picked off day after day as the carcass dries out. The knife and fork are abviously middle-class sensibilities. The palm tree is a nice touch. A broken dream,perhaps? Plastic honeymoon, deserted island? Oh, If you put in a slice of pumpkin pie, it could be a desserted island! (Pg 64)

It made me strong.I took a step back, near my whole self in the mirror.I pushed back my shoulders and raised my chin, my back straight as an arrow.

You were born with the seeds of your talent, the ability to observe the world around you and weave piece of it into a story. I believe that most -- if not all -- people are born with these seeds. What separates the writers from the non-writers is that the writers actually sit down and, you know... write.