Sometimes when I get up after writing, I'm surprised at how my body feels. Suddenly I'm not a lanky, hungry young boy any more. It's no fun putting on ten years and fifty pounds all of a sudden. Other times, I get up and I'm pleasantly surprised that I'm not a weary innkeeper, hopeless, with bones that feel like they're made of lead. I really sink into the characters that I write.

It was more exciting when I didn't know I had permission.

It's hard for a newbie author to get noticed.

Caffeine helps a lot. That and a certain amount of isolation.

But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. This is rare and pure and perfect.

I decided to dub the room with the good chairs my lutery. Or perhaps my performatory. I would need a while to come up with something suitably pretentious.

A troublesome question? Those tend to be the only whorthwhile kind.