It's September 21st, a day I love for the balance it carries with it.

I always think, when I'm in motion, writing seems like the most natural thing.

One thing I'm always thinking about myself is what am I willing to make up? And the answer is not much.

Sometimes I'm writing for magazines on assignment, but the university has to be patient with me. I mean, during the ten-week periods that I have a class, I'm there every Thursday night or whatever it is, but sometimes that's all I'm there, because I'm somewhere else the rest of the time.

It would have been so perfectly ironic if I had been killed by the dog, because I was petting a dog who was not used to being pet, because I think I'm some kind of dog whisperer, and I think I can make any dog love me.

I've always said the toughest thing about learning to feel your feelings is that then you have to feel your feelings.

It's September 21st, a day I love for the balance it carries with it.