I Think Part Of Being

The Low Bird Is Not Picked Tenderly Out Of The Dust By Its Fellows; Rather, It Is Dispatched Quickly And Without Mercy.

Once I Start Work On A Project, I Don’t Stop And I Don’t Slow Down Unless I Absolutely Have To. If I Don’t Write Every Day, The Characters Begin To Stale Off In My Mind – They Begin To Seem Like Characters Instead Of Real People. The Tale’s Narrative Cutting Edge Starts To Rust And I Begin To Lose My Hold On The Story’s Plot And Pace. Worst Of All, The Excitement Of Spinning Something New Begins To Fade. The Work Starts To Feel Like Work, And For Most Writers That Is The Smooch Of Death.

Don't Wait For The Muse. As I've Said, He's A Hardheaded Guy Who's Not Susceptible To A Lot Of Creative Fluttering. This Isn't The Ouija Board Or The Spirit-world We're Talking About Here, But Just Another Job Like Laying Pipe Or Driving Long-haul Trucks. Your Job Is To Make Sure The Muse Knows Where You're Going To Be Every Day From Nine 'til Noon. Or Seven 'til Three. If He Does Know, I Assure You That Sooner Or Later He'll Start Showing Up.

The First Real Terror Struck Him Then, And There Was Nothing Supernatural About It. It Was Only A Realization Of How Easy It Was To Trash Your Life. That Was What Was So Scary. You Just Dragged The Fan Up To Everything You Had Spent The Years Raking Together And Turned The Motherfucker On.

The Most Important Things Are The Hardest Things To Say. They Are The Things You Get Ashamed Of, Because Words Diminish Them - Words Shrink Things That Seemed Limitless When They Were In Your Head To No More Than Living Size When They're Brought Out.