I'm Always Most Interested In Writing About

I Can't Envision An Honest War Novel That Left War In A Positive Light.

I've Been Writing Poems And Stories Since I Was About 13.

You Want To Fall, That's All. You Think It Can't Go On Like That. It's As If Your Life Is A Perch On The Edge Of A Cliff And Going Forward Seems Impossible, Not For A Lack Of Will, But A Lack Of Space. The Possibility Of Another Day Stands In Defiance Of The Laws Of Physics. And You Can't Go Back. So You Want To Fall, Let Go, Give Up, But You Can't. And Every Breath You Take Reminds You Of That Fact. So It Goes.

I Wanted Something That I Could Look Back On And Say, Yes, You Were Fighting Too, You Burned To Be Alive, And Whatever Failure Or Accident Of Nature Caused You To Be Killed Could Be Explained By Something Other Than The Fact That I'd Missed Your Giving Up.

All Choices Are Illusions, Or If They Are Not Illusions Their Strength Is Illusory, For One Choice Must Contend With The Choices Of All The Other Men And Women Deciding Anything In That Moment.