--THERE’S A FINE LINE BETWEEN MEAN AND OUTRIGHT CRUELTY

…Who am I to judge?  What’s been gained?  Lost?  Loved?  Hated?  What do you really think?  How do you explain yourself?  What right have we to happiness?

…It’s funny how someone can say “Thank you” one minute, then “Fuck you,” the next.  Actually, it’s not funny at all.

…I only feel bewilderment.

…That scar is really going to leave a mark.

…It does or doesn’t matter, depending upon how you gauge its history.

…If it makes you feel better, I can be the monster.

…I think you’re better at putting things away than I am.   Actually, I know you are.

…It’s interesting how sixty minutes is different depending on what you’re doing with it.  For instance, sixty minutes with someone you enjoy, with someone you’re at ease with, is really like five minutes, tops.  For instance, sixty minutes with your therapist--where it’s just you and him, the walls and the brooding silence—it’s a week and a half, at a minimum.

…Sometimes I feel like I am on the verge of a fever.  I guess that’s just me being a victim again.

…I often lack the mental capacity to properly describe how unlikely and altogether unbelievable things are.

…Depression isn’t exactly something you seek out.  Instead, it finds you with its long claws, its snug grip that holds on for dear life not knowing why.

…Maybe the problem is we’re too good at Goodbyes.

…My good friend, Cabernet, has a lot of insightful advice.  I wish I could remember it all.

…Everyone is replaceable if they’re hurting the film.

…The first novel I ever wrote, I wrote on one of the very first PC’s.  This was around 1990.   I didn’t know how to work it that well, the computer that is.  When I was finished, I punched the wrong button and the whole thing erased.  I mean THE ENTIRE BOOK disappeared.  I remember almost throwing up at dinner.  But then I wrote it a second time.  It was still a pretty shitty novel, yet it was a better book the second time around.  There are some learnings to be had there.

…You only get to not know what you’re doing once, because you’ll never be so brave again, because you won’t know what to be scared of the next time around.

…Nothing in the poem I wrote earlier today really happened in my life, but it all rhymed with the truth.

…At the hour while I’m writing this—not when I’ve posted it, not when you’re reading it—the whole world’s asleep, and each breath it takes and exhales shuffles back into my ear like the voice of a sea shell trying to tell me its darkest secret.  It’s kind of comforting and also a little frightening.

…Time has its way with everyone.

…Sometimes it’s like you’re running a marathon alone before someone else comes in.  But, still, the person who has to push it forward at every step is you.

…The one question I like to ask people is, “What do you wish you’d known?”

…Life is usually a lesson I have to re-learn over and over in the editing room.

…A little bit of want is okay, but too much of it smacks of treading the water.

…You can be all over the map and still not know where you’re going.

…“You can read all of the writing craft books in the world, you can bathe yourself in writing tips, but in the end, there’s only one way to become a better writer:  Sit down and write.  Write often.  Write thousands of words, and then write thousands more.” --Substitute writing, write and writer, for your passion, and this is pretty much true for everyone.  In a way, it’s a panacea. 

…Conundrum—that’s a baby’s name we haven’t seen yet.

…I feel inexplicably bereaved.

…Sometimes there’s a fence between one moment and the next.

…I don’t smile like this in real life.

…I’m mostly made up of books and stories which is why people have a hard time taking me seriously.

…The things I’m most serious about are usually the ones I screw up.  Maybe there’s a name for that.

…Making comparisons is typically not very healthy.

…It counts.  It all counts.

...You can concoct all the stories you want, believe any falsehood your mind creates.  Go ahead and make some more things up.  That's just another way of showing your true colors.  That's just showing how full of shit you really are.

…So promise me you’ll never forget that you aren’t an accident.  You’re a gift to the world.