Writing Is Very Castrating In The Moment.

Writing A Story Is Kind Of Like Surfing, As Opposed To The Novel, Where You Use A Gps To Get Somewhere. With Surfing, You Kind Of Jump.

He Felt Full Of A Dense And Sour Substance That Was Blocking His Chest, And It Wasn't Grief. After All Those Years, Life Now Seemed Like No More Than A Trap, A Maze, Not Even A Maze, Just A Room That Was All Walls, No Door.

It Took A Lot To Understand That The Interest In Both Writing A Story And Reading It Is Not In The Objective Dangers Someone Takes. You Don't Have To Fight Snakes Or Wake Up In A Strange Apartment To Have A Story; It's About What Goes On Inside Your Mind And Soul.

Sometimes, When You Are In A Really Constrained Situation, It Makes You More Focused About What You Want To Say And Where You're Heading. The Most Beautiful Love Poems That Were Ever Written Are Sonnets, Composed In A Very Constraining Form.

His Whole Body Was Completely Still, Except The Wings, Which Were Still Fluttering A Little, Like When Someone Dies. That's When He Finally Understood That Of All The Things The Angel Had Told Him, Nothing Was True. That He Wasn't Even An Angel, Just A Liar With Wings.