I Like To Go Out And Write.

I Always Say Three Things Make A Writer: Inspiration, Obviously; Perspiration, Doing The Work. But The Third Is Desperation. I'm Not Really Fit For Anything Else, Or To Have A Real Job. That Fear Drives Me. The Pressure Has Always Been Self Inflicted.

Let Me Back Up A Little And Tell You Why I Prefer Writing To Real Life: You Can Rewrite. A Novel, For Example, Can Be Cleaned Up, Altered, Trimmed, Improved. Life, On The Other Hand, Is One Big Messy Rough Draft.

I Love Stories. When I'm Writing, What I Pretend Subconsciously Is That We're Cavemen, We're Sitting Around The Fire, And I'm Telling You Stories. If I Bore You, You're Probably Going To Pick Up A Big Club And Hit Me Over The Head.

That’s The Problem With Falling In Love. It Makes You Start Talking Like A Bad Country Song

There's Always A Price You Pay When You Lie. Once You Introduce A Lie Into A Relationship, Even For The Best Of Intentions, It Is Always There. Whenever You’re With That Person Again, That Lie Is In The Room Too. It Sits On Your Shoulder. Good Lie Or Bad Lie, It's In The Room With You Forever Now. It's Your Constant Companion.