I Often Think Of Death. True. Suicide

I Don't Write With An Outline. I Don't Often Know What I'm Going To Do As I'm Writing. And I Do Everything By Feel And By Instinct.

This Moment And This Chance, They Are The Same, And They Are Mine If I Choose Them,and I Do. I Want Them. Now And As Long As I Can Have Them They Are Both Precious And Fleeting And Gone In The Blink Of An Eye, Don't Waste Them. A Moment And An Opportunity And A Life, All In The Unseen Tick Of A Clock Holding Me Nowhere. My Heart Is Beating. The Walls Are Pale And Quiet. I Am Surviving.

Coming After All The Bullshit Related To A Million Little Pieces, Nobody Was Expecting Anything From Me. No Publisher, No Agent, No One. Just Me And The Book. It Was Great.

I Love The Process Of Being Alone In A Room.

The Wounds That Never Heal Can Only Be Mourned Alone.