I had cancer for fourteen months and wrote a memoir about the experience.

Too often we take notes on writing, we think about writing but never do it. I want you to walk into the heart of the storm, written words dripping off hair, eyelids, hanging from hands.

We shouldn't forget that the universe moves with us, is at our back with everything we do.

When we write we begin to taste the texture of our own mind

Be tough in the way a blade of grass is: rooted, willing to lean, and at peace with what is around it.

keep your hand moving

Indefinite plans get dubious results.