I am hunted by humans.

The consequence of this is that I'm always finding humans at their best and worst. I see their ugly and their beauty, and I wonder how the same thing can be both.

I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.

There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

You might argue that I make the rounds no matter what year it is, but sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.

You'll have days of complete lack of faith in your abilities. But you have to keep coming back. That's when you know you're a writer - when you take the failures and appear at the desk again, over and over again.

***A KEY WORD*** Imagined