Write Relentlessly, Until You Find Your Voice.

I Spent Months Searching For Some Secret Code Before I Realized That Common Sense Has Nothing To Do With It. Hysteria, Psychosis, Torture, Depression: I Was Told That If Something Is Unpleasant It's Probably Feminine. This Encouraged Me, But The Theory Was Blown By Such Masculine Nouns As Murder, Toothache, And Rollerblade. I Have No Problem Learning The Words Themselves, It's The Sexes That Trip Me Up And Refuse To Stick.

You Really Burden The Reader If You Put Things In But, "oh, It's Not Interesting, But I'll Put It In Anyway." Then The Reader's Going To Think, Like, "mmm... No Thanks." So The Thing Is To Cut All That Stuff Out Before Its Published.

A Week After My Drugs Ran Out, I Left My Bed To Perform At The College, Deciding At The Last Minute To Skip Both The Doughnut Toss And The March Of The Headless Plush Toys. Instead, I Just Heated Up A Skillet Of Plastic Soldiers, Poured A Milkshake Over My Head And Called It A Night.

I Rejected The Word Humorist For A Long Time Because I Thought That It Meant You Had, Like, A Cardigan Sweater With Patches On The Elbows, But Now I'm Old And I Do. I Grew Into That Word. I Think At Heart, All This Time, I've Been A Diarist. I'm Not Ashamed Of It.

I Was Just Struggling With My Inner Vachette And Pondering The Depths Of My Own Inhumanity.