A Dimwit Thinks Nothing Is Funny Unless

By Writing A Horror Novel Where This Inexplicable Disorder Takes Over In Our Ordered Lives, You Make Order Look Better By Comparison. But Below That, There's A Part Of Us That Responds To The Who Bashing Their Instruments To Pieces On The Stage. There's A Very Primitive Part That Says, "do It Some More."

That's The Day's Business. Thinking. Thinking And Isolation, Because It Doesn't Matter If You Pass The Time Of Day With Someone Or Not; In The End, You're Alone. He Seemed To Have Put In As Many Miles In His Brain As He Had With His Feet. The Thoughts Kept Coming And There Was No Way To Deny Them.

Some Of This Book—perhaps Too Much—has Been About How I Learned To Do It. Much Of It Has Been About How You Can Do It Better. The Rest Of It—and Perhaps The Best Of It—is A Permission Slip: You Can, You Should, And If You're Brave Enough To Start, You Will. Writing Is Magic, As Much The Water Of Life As Any Other Creative Art. The Water Is Free. So Drink. Drink And Be Filled Up.

And As A Writer, One Of The Things That I've Always Been Interested In Doing Is Actually Invading Your Comfort Space. Because That's What We're Supposed To Do. Get Under Your Skin, And Make You React.

If You Don't Have The Time To Read, You Don't Have The Time Or The Tools To Write.