I Am Tired. My Arm Aches. My

I Love My Work But Do Not Know How I Write It.

There Are Always Greater Fish Than You Have Caught, Always The Lure Of Greater Task And Achievement, Always The Inspiration To Seek, To Endure, To Find.

What Makes Life Worth Living? Better Surely, To Yield To The Stain Of Suicide Blood In Me And Seek Forgetfulness In The Embrace Of Cold Dark Death.

I Hope I Have Found Myself, My Work, My Happiness - Under The Light Of The Western Skies.

Writing Was Like Digging Coal. I Sweat Blood. The Spell Is On Me.