…I've been in a bit of a tailspin lately. Or maybe I've been floating. Whatever it is, I haven't been making much progress. I did, however, write three pretty good poems in the bathtub yesterday. It's where I get most of my best work done. Something about the rumble of the jets and the suds (good suds are really hard to come by, you wouldn't think so but it's true) and reading while sipping cabernet gets my mind working. I wrote a poem with this opening line-- "I dream of the snow storm again, that we die when we run out of footprints." I borrowed the second half of the line from Billy Collins. I had no idea where this poem would go, but as can be expected with me, it took a very sharp, tragic turn at the end.
…Speaking of Billy Collins. Some of his poems are good, but many are just sort of blah. Yet he's a poet laureate. Go figure. I'm almost done with the second of two collections by him, so I think I can have an opinion.

…My son asked me what a nomad is today. Yesterday at McDonald's we debated what is worse for a person--cigarettes or marijuanna. Not that either are good. I said ganja is worse, because a person can smoke a cig and drive the same but on pot you can become unnerved and dangerous and do stupid things. Last night he and I watched "Arrested Development" and it was a pleasure to hear him talk about how brilliant the show is/was.
…It's fun to watch my son growing and learning. It's the definition of joy.

…I no longer have good hair days. I had one in, like, somewhere around the second week of November. But that was it. Something has happened to my hair. It looks like the top of a bamboo tree hut after a windstorm. And product doesn't seem to help either.

…I want to see the film, "Little Furniture." You should go see it if you can. Go tonight or tomorrow. Take a date and friends and talk it up, put your fab reviews on Facebook and tweet about it.
…What would we do without Indie films? It seems the 3-D big budget Avatar types are pushing out the little guys the way Barnes and Noble and now the Kindle are crushing mom-and-pop book stores.

…The new Kanye West disc is really good, but not 5 Stars good, as Rolling Stone would have you believe. The new Kid Cudi is growing on me. It's pretty different for a rapper. Today I listened to all of a Keane album while on the treadmill. Florence and the Machine takes lots of repeated listens. She's a cross between Annie Lenox, Chrissie Hind and the girl that sings Black Horse and the Cherry Tree, or whatever that song I'm thinking of was called.

…I sent a submission to Litsnack recently. They have published me before. I like them a lot. I like this a lot as well (It's printed in their submission guidelines):

THE LITSNACK PHILOSOPHY 11/13/2009
4 Comment(s)


• Great poems explode like fireworks
• Great stories explore change--specifically in people, places, or ideas. There must be transformation!
• In great language, syntax is lean, word choice economical
• Use specific nouns and strong verbs
• Kill adjectives and adverbs
• Great stories use all of the traditional plot points (exposition, inciting moment, rising action, climax, falling action, conclusion)
• Or, if not, they at least answer all of their own questions (that's Chekhov, baby!)
• In poems, create emotion through imagery, figurative language, and specific, evocative details
• Same for stories, except add strong characters and vivid setting
• Do the above, and theme takes care of itself
• In short, good literature doesn't have to be long
• Our motto at LITSNACK: "Easy in. Easy out. Nobody gets hurt."
See ya at the watering hole.

--Ed.

…There are days when I really comprehend the oft-repeated statement that, "Writing is a lonely endeavor." There are days when I feel the jagged spurs of that phrase all the way down to my black-nailed runner toes.
In fact, today is one of those days.
It's Monday. I am in my office. Christmas music plays downstairs, instrumental music, nothing too moody, jaunty keys and woodwinds. It is gray outside, but I have in front of me a lake with water fowl bobbing on the kerned waves. In back of me stacked thick and tight on every shelf are many, many books that I love. I have had three stories accepted in the last two days. I write full time. I have a wife who loves me and kids who love me. I have physical and cyber friends and yet
I
feel
lonely.
Today.
Today I feel lonely even though I have no excuse for such an emotion.
But don't cry for me Argentina, I will break out of it.
Here's what I will do:
I will change the music to something fun and upbeat, like Drake or OAR, and I will have another cup of thick, smolder java, and I will surf some of my favorite writers blogs and I will read great writing and that will center me in a contented happy place. Then I will get to work.
Until then, read this funny thing from Dave Eggers encouraging all the NaNoWriMo writers…


Dear NaNoWriMo Author,
Is procrastination a problem for you? Really? You think you have a problem?
Here's procrastination: The organizers of NaNoWriMo asked me three months ago to write this pep talk, and I'm only writing it now, after blowing three deadlines, after avoiding ten reminders. I was asked to write a pep talk for NaNoWriMo, and I'm actually writing it after the month started. So whatever procrastination problems you have, I probably have you beat. I'm the worst, and I'm getting worse every day.
It's a very strange thing, because we all think writing should be fun. That is, when I was temping through most of my twenties, wondering what it would be like to write for a living, hoping for such a life, I thought it might be pretty sweet. I thought if I ever got to write for a living, I would feel pretty lucky, and that I would be so appreciative that I would bound out of bed every day and, like a goddamned adult, I would write as much as I could every day, and get work done in a reasonable amount of time. Again, like an adult.
Instead, I need, on average, 8 hours sitting on my writing couch to get one hour of work done. It's a pathetic ratio. I stall, avoid, put off and generally act like someone's making me do some terrible job I never wanted to do. I blow pretty much every deadline I'm given.
Just like I blew the one for NaNoWriMo.
But then, when things are late, and I'm feeling like an idiot, and I feel like I'm letting down someone (like the people at NaNoWriMo, and you), I finally dig in and get started. And then I write, and I write in a fury, and I even, sometimes, enjoy writing.
And that's why I love NaNoWriMo. It gets you started. It gives you the impetus to finally start, and/or finally finish. Knowing there are thousands of others out there trying to do the same, who are using this ridiculous deadline as cattle-prod and shame deterrent, means goddamnit, you better do it now because you know how to write, and you have fingers, and you have this one life, and during this one life, you should put your words down, and make your voice heard, and then let others hear your voice. And the only way any of that's going to happen is if you actually do it. People can't read the thoughts in your head. They can only read the thoughts you put down, carefully and with great love, on the page. So you have to do it, goddamnit. You have to do it, and you can step back and be happy. You can step back and relax. You can step back and feel something like pride.
Then of course you'll have to revise it ten or twenty times, but let's not talk about that yet.
Write your goddamned book now. The world awaits.
D
Dave Eggers is the author of Zeitoun and What is the What. You can learn more about his work here.

…I had a good day yesterday--that story I told you I work specifically for "Negative Suck" got accepted. I ran 22 miles, a mile less that I was supposed to, but hey, at least I got the long distance in. And with that run, I've officially passed 2,000 miles for the year, something I've never done.

…I did not write anything today. I always feel incomplete on days when I don't write, as if my equilibrium is off, as if I have vertigo or sea sickness, as if my vision is spotty like just before a migraine. Tomorrow I will write and I will feel better. Yes, tomorrow.

…This article is on Phillip Glass from Esquire's "What I've Learned." I don't know a lot about Mr. Glass, but I like what he has to say and hope you will as well.

I always knew what I wanted to do and I did it.

A very interesting thing happens as you age. At a certain point you become older than your parents were when they died. My father died at sixty-five. I am now seventy-one. He would have lived longer — it was a mishap, a tragic accident, hit by a car. At this point, I am six years older than my father was when he passed away. I now look at my father as a younger man. It is he who is the young Mr. Glass.

When you become a parent, you begin to become sympathetic to your own parents. We begin to understand how much we owe to them, how much we're shaped by their vision of the world.

I work every morning without fail.

You practice and you get better. It's very simple.

I was not always the brightest bulb in the tree. I was a hardworking guy, but in my opinion I was not one of the most talented people at Juilliard. I didn't have that brilliance that some people really have, but I had a tremendous appetite for the work.

Motivation will make up for a lot of failings.

When I left the University of Chicago, I was nineteen. I went back to Baltimore and announced to my parents I was going to go to music school at Juilliard. They weren't thrilled with that. So I went to Bethlehem Steel and got a job at the steel mill for nine months and made enough money to go to New York and live for a year and work and study music. I didn't think of it as an act of courage; it may have been more of an act of desperation than anything.

When I struck out in my own music language, I took a step out of the world of serious music, according to most of my teachers. But I didn't care. I could row the boat by myself, you know? I didn't need to be on the big liner with everybody else.
Self-esteem comes from your parents. Somebody tells you that you can do whatever you want, and you believe them.

The question is: What's the mill? Not: What's the grist?

Collaboration is the source of inspiration for me.

When I was a kid working at the steel mills, when you stood in front of the furnace, the heat that came off was amazing. And I feel that in many ways New York was, for me, the furnace — the cultural furnace. Just standing in that heat warms you up.

When you hear for the first time the music you have composed, there is that astonishing moment when the idea that you carried in your heart and your mind comes back to you in the hands of a musician. People always ask, "Is it what you thought it would be?" And that's a very interesting question, because once you hear it in the air, so to speak, it's almost impossible to remember what it was you imagined. The reality of the sound eclipses your experience. The solitary dreamer is wondering: Will the horns sound good here? Will this flute sound good there? But then when you actually hear it, you're certainly in a different place. The experience of that is my god.

When you're really working, really playing tennis, lifting weights, playing basketball, or whatever it is — it happens in sports, it happens in music, it happens in everything — when you're fully consumed with the act, the witness just disappears. And for that reason, when someone asks, "What was it like?" you can't remember, because the person inside of you who does the remembering was otherwise occupied.

What I've noticed is that people who love what they do, regardless of what that might be, tend to live longer.

…I had a rocky time writing today, but I did come up with something I really like about a boy who sees his mother making out with a bear, or a man in a bear costume. The story is called, "The Costume Party" and of course it is tragic. I sent it off to Negative Suck. I was looking at their sight and the submission guidelines said, "I want writing that makes me feel like I've just been punched," so for whatever reason, this line came into my head, "The man kissing my mother wears a bear costume," and there it went.

…Tomorrow is a 23 mile run (well, 22 running, one walking at the end if I'm not too crippled.) I never sleep well the night before long runs.

…On the treadmill this morning I listened to Blue October. Do you know them? They have both the single most violent song ("Dirt Room") I've ever heard (way more than Em) and also the happiest song ("Jump Rope") I've ever head. I also listened to old Tonic and Third Eye Blind (there's not a bad song on that first album). I have new Kanye, Kid Cudi and Mumford and Sons, but haven't listened to it. Neon Trees is quite good, as is (don't be a hater because I love her) the new Taylor Swift. She reminds me of a Collie, all blonde and fluffy.

…As I've said, I'm not going to be a finished in the NaNoWriMo contest. Still I get the ocassional pep talk email. This one, from Lemony Snicket, is pure gold. Read on if you don't believe me:


Dear Cohort,
Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it's nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.
For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies - what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.
Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.
Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one's entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient - the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.
Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares? Think of that secret favorite book of yours - not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they'd never understand it. Perhaps it's not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you'll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.
Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor's waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your n ovel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.
In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.
--Lemony Snicket
Lemony Snicket is the author of A Series of Unfortunate Events. You can learn more about his work here.

…I have a new story, "Postage" up at 52/250 A Year of Flash, and also two new poems, "Black Quench" at The New Verse News and "Listening Device" at GwI. All are also here under "Words In Print." People seemed to like "Listening Device" a lot. I do, too. It's funny though, how sometimes I'll send out a cluster of poems and the one I think is weakest will be selected and the one I feel is strongest gets passed over. Just shows how subjective this can be.

…I run long distances. I am thin. I probably obsess too much about being thin. But I ate a small mountain range today and the thing is sort of sitting like and upside down bath tub in my stomach now.

…I like having writer friends. Writer friends on the internet are really fun because you can swap thoughts and comments on each others stories and it feels safe because you know them but you don't really "really" know them.

…I got xTx's chapbook, "He Is Talking To The Fat Lady" and it was just as good as I expected. She's got mad skills. I also got Sam Pink's novel, "Person." So far so good. I wonder if Sam Pink is made up moniker. I'm thinking it is.

…I like this quote from Chuck Palahnuik: "No matter how careful you are, there's going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn't experience it all."

…My wife finished reading my novel. She said she liked it a lot and I think she meant it. I need to do some edits and then start querying agents. I sent the first 20 pages to two agents I met at the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference. That was back in late July, and I still haen't heard anything, so I'm taking that as a bad sign.

…This is from Writer's Digest

Ultimate Blog Series on Novel Queries (#1)
Posted by Jane


This is my definitive No Rules series on novel queries. It's meant particularly for writers who are new to the query process. (A series on nonfiction book queries will come later.)


THE 5 ELEMENTS OF A NOVEL QUERY
Every query should include these 5 elements (but not necessarily delivered in this order):
• Personalization (where you customize the letter for the recipient)
• What you're selling (genre/category, word count, title/subtitle)
• Hook (100-150 words is ideal)
• Bio (sometimes optional for uncredited fiction writers)
• Thank you & closing (plus any important notes)

What's in the very first paragraph of the query?
This varies from writer to writer, from project to project. You put your best foot forward—or you lead with your strongest selling point. This might involve:
• A referral from an existing client
• Met at a conference or pitch event (your material may or may not have been requested, but if your material WAS requested, you're not really writing a query any more; you're writing a cover letter)
• Compelling hook that matches what an agent recently expressed interest in
• Personalized intro that smartly and genuinely identifies why your work is a good match for this particular agent or editor
• Excellent credentials or awards (e.g., MFA from a school that an agent is known to recruit clients from, first prize in a national competition with thousands of entrants, impressive publication credits with prestigious journal or New York publisher)
Many writers don't have referrals or conference meetings to fall back on, so usually the hook becomes the lead for the query letter.

Other writers start simple and direct, which is fine: "My [title] is an 80,000 supernatural romance."

Does personalization really make a difference?
Yes, if it's done well. If you're vague in your personalization (faking it), then you'll appear insincere or lazy.

Remember, your query is a sales tool, and good salespeople develop a rapport with the people they want to sell, and show that they understand their needs. Show that you've done your homework, show that you care, and show that you're not blasting indiscriminately.


EXAMPLES OF GOOD PERSONALIZATION QUERY LEADS
In a January interview with Guide to Literary Agents, you praised The Thirteenth Tale and indicated an interest in “literary fiction with a genre plot.” My paranormal romance MOONLIGHT DANCER (85,000 words) blends a literary style with the romance tradition.

***

I read about you in the July/August Poets & Writers magazine and found your comments encouraging, savvy, and full of brass tacks optimism that moved me. I hope you will consider representing my 82,000-word novel, BACK IN THE WORLD.

***

My YA paranormal romance, I WOULD HAVE LOVED YOU ANYWAY, is complete at 95,000 words. I follow your blog and know you are currently looking for paranormal romances—without vampires or werewolves—and want to offer my novel for your consideration.

EXAMPLES OF GOOD STRAIGHT-FORWARD QUERY LEADS
I’m seeking representation for my YA novel, SEND. Complete at 76,000 words, it’s a story about Daniel Clements, a former cyberbully trying to live with the consequences of his actions.

***

82 DAYS is a novel about a young man discovering that the Hollywood version of the Army differs from the reality of service.

QUERY LEADS THAT SHOULD BE IMPROVED
The enclosed sample of my commercial fiction, THE SPIRIT OF ST. CHARLES (73,000 words) tells the story of a young woman overcoming personal tragedy to rebuild her community, ruined by a catastrophic hurricane. This story shows how a natural disaster changes a young woman from living like a victim to a person with determination and emotional strength. It is 73,000 words in length.

[I recommend cutting this descriptive line because it is repetitive, and delays getting to the real hook.]

***
Vampires are everywhere. They are in our books, on our televisions, at the movies, even on our breakfast cereals. We no longer fear them as the monsters we used to know. They are sex symbols and objects of envy and adoration. What if this is all according to plan? My novel, GRAVE SHIFT, is a 90,000-word dark urban fantasy.

[When it comes to selling fiction, don't talk about trends. Sell the story.]

***
“Wow! You guys have got to write a book!” is the hilarious outburst individuals have and continue to give to my sisters and me on a daily basis as we relate the adventures of being IDENTICAL TRIPLETS.

[Your query should never mention that your friends & family absolutely love your work–or told you to write a book. Never.]

…It's been snowing here. Things are white and plush, except the lake, which is that grape-purple color, bordering on black. Because it's early, everything is still and beautiful in an odd yet serene way. I have my fireplace on. I wish you could see what I'm seeing. You'd like it.

…Social networking is a strange thing. You can have lots of viral friends, but not any real ones. And people spout off online. It's difficult to sit back and let them be crass or idiotic, and then some other nit-wit will come along and agree with them. I guess things like Facebook allow us the chance to come face to face with humanity more often and more personally, even if it's all just words and images.

…I am enjoying this book by Miranda July called, "Learning to Love You More." In it, she's asked people to perform certain tasks, so to speak, like take a photo of an outfit you wore on some momentous day and describe what happened, or make an encouraging banner, post it in a public place and take a photo of it, take a photo of your mom and dad kissing, write your life story in one day, etc. It's very creative and fun and people make themselves very vulnerable. Oh yes, and one other I really like--drawn a constellation from the freckles on someone's skin.

…I've read Miranda July's short story collection, "No One Belong Here More Than You" a long time ago. It's good. She's clever and creative. I think she has a lot of groupies. She should, if she doesn't. Below are some terrific and witty things from her:

--"What a terrible mistake to let go of something wonderful for something real."
--"I laughed and said, Life is easy. What I meant was, Life is easy with you here, and when you leave, it will be hard again."
--"Some people need a red carpet rolled out in front of them in order to walk forward into friendship. They can't see the tiny outstretched hands all around them, everywhere, like leaves on trees."
--"Inelegantly, and without my consent, time passed."
--"But, like ivy, we grow where ther is room for us."
--"People tend to stick to their own size group because it's easier on the neck. Unless they are romantically involved, in which case the size difference is sexy. It means: I am willing to go the distance for you."
--"Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself,and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground; all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing."
--"That day I carried the dream around like a full glass of water, moving gracefully so I would not lose any of it."
--"If there were a map of the solar system, but instead of stars it showed people and their degrees of separation, my star would be the one you had to travel the most light-years from to get to his. You would die getting to him."
--"You always feel like you are the only one in the world, like everyone else is crazy for each other, but it's not true. Generally, people don't like each other very much. And that goes for friends, too."
--"I looked at other couples and wondered how they could be calm about it. They held hands as if they weren't even holding hands. When Steve and I held hands, I had to keep looking down to marvel at it. There was my hand, the same hand I've alwys had- oh but look! What is it holding? It's holding Steve's hand! Who is Steve? My three-dimensional boyfriend. Each day I wondered what would happen next. WHat happens when yhou stop wanting, when you are happy. I supposed I would go on being happy forever. I knew I would not mess things up by growing bored. I had done that once before."
--"He seemed to be waiting for me to move foreward. Weren't we all."
--"I cried in English, I cried in French. I cried in all the languages, because tears are the same all around the world."

…I have a new poem, "Bulimia" up at Clutching At Straws and a new story, "Lips, Mouth, Heart" at 52/250 A Year of Flash. Both are also here under "Words In Print."

…I wish I was more witty. Do you ever do that, wish you were something you're not, or sort of crave a quality you consider yourself void of?

As a writer, I should be a lot more clever and funny, edgy and illustrative. At least it seems that way, or I feel that way. (This is me being raw and insecure now.) I get jealous and envious. I do. I never wish any other writer ill, but I can--and often do--wish I had some of their mojo or sensibility when it comes to off-the-cuff commentary.

There are writers I admire for sheer talent, and then there are writers who have mad story writing skills but can also blog as if they've spent their whole day coaxing out the words, pruning and such, when it's obvious they've just vomitted all that cleverness out in the time it takes the rest of us to blow our nose.

xTx is a great example. Okay, so I don't get some of her subject matter, such as a recent and rambling obsession with boil lancing (yep), but overall she's something of a--what? genius? no, not that. artiste? no, that's too gentrified in a francoise sort of way. relevant, hip pulse-point for modern day? yes, that. she's a pulse point. what she says matters, or even if it doesn't, it's always worthwhile reading, and it leaves you in a better (creative) place. and she does it with relative ease. i envy her. i do. (if, in fact, she is a her, which i'm pretty sure she it.)

There's also Roxane Gay. I love her blog. She just lets it all pour out and she makes herself vulnerable. A writer, stepping out of the shower stall naked on purpose is a very rare thing in (writer's) cyber world where tooting your horn is the norm. (I should tell Roxane that I admire her. The tricky thing is, people only know you cyberally, and so, if you give them a simple yet random compliment like a real (physical friend) would do, here (online) they might worry that you're some stalker nutjob.)

I think Meg Pokrass is very clever and funny and quirky in so many ways. Her posts are always risky, but they work (i.e., the photo of her leg with flea bites all over it) plus she has a legion of fans, of which one is me.

Anyway, enough self-therapy… I guess I'll be myself and see what happens. After all, it's not like I have a lot of other options.

…Here are some great quotes I like (I hate that word "quotes." I should say, Here are some great philosophies I like.)

--"Find a subject you care about. It is this genuine caring, not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style." Kurt Vonnegut

--"Successful writing inspires the writer to do better, to attempt the scaling of greater heights."
--"It is an intriguing fact that in order to make readers care about a character, however bad, however depraved, it is only necessary to make hi love somone or even something. A dog will do, even a hamster." Ruth Rendell

--"At the most basic level, I appreciate writers who have something to say." Daniel Alarcon

--"To be a good writer, read until your eyes swell, and take your time and follow your weird, even if it means being lost for intolerable stretches--your weird will guide you, it will deliver you to a place that will be worth all th suffering and disorientation." Junot Diaz

--"Before you can become a writer you must make it new and the only way to do that is to run a harrowing, fearless, rughtless self-audit. You have to take an emotional, moral inventory." James Robinson

--"A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." Thomas Mann