Rachel, You Summon Demons. You’re Good At

Don't Fall Into The Trap Of Having To Have Everything Perfect To Write Or Wait Until The Mood Strikes You. If You Want It As A Job, Treat It Like A Job, And Just As You Don't Go To Work Only When You Feel Like It, You Have To Condition Yourself To Sit And Write Even When The Ideas Don't Flow.

Hey, Ah, Does Anyone Want A Cookie Or Something? Oh Yeah. A Cookie. That Would Make Everything Better. Dunked In A Shot Of Tequila , Maybe? Or Better Yet, Just The Bottle? Yeah, That Ought To Do It.

But A Slow, Deeply Satisfied Smile Came Over Him, And His Breath Quickened. 'so Softly It Starts,' He Whispered. 'foolishly Clever And With An Unsurvivable Trust. It Just Saved Your Miserable Life, That Questionable Show Of Thought, My Itchy-witch.' Al’s Smile Shifted, Becoming Lighter. 'and Now You Will Live To Possibly Regret It.

Gaily, If You Can't Demonstrate The Ability To Keep Her Alive, Then I Will Take Over Her Care And Get You A Dog Instead." - Newt

We All Watched Al Open The Door. Turning, He Waved To Us, Then Passed The Threshold. The Door Shut Behind Him. I Waited For Something To Happen. Nothing Did. “this Isn’t Good,” Quen Said. I Choked Back My Burst Of Laughter, Knowing It Would Come Out Sounding Hysterical.