Perhaps someday I’ll learn to truly count this drifting as working, to see my daydreams as an extension of my time at the desk – but I doubt it. I still like to believe there is such a thing as time off from work.
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No matter how much someone loves me, they simply cannot tell me which stories to write, which relationships to pursue.
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The rain is nothing; the story is everything, and you can’t touch a story.
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It haunted me a little the way it ended for Fitzgerald, as if writing Gatsby could have inoculated him against any disappointment.
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The search for freedom can become a form of bondage in itself.
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I was determined to let experience be my only teacher. Fortunately, experience never stops teaching.
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I don’t want my fate written in the stars any more than I want it written in my genes.
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I’ve learned that the difference between the artist and the victim is a single word: Because.
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Despair is life’s way of saying, “You’ll never find what you’re looking for here.”
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The middle of a story is where I’m meant to be upset, where I’m meant to worry and doubt. What hell to be stuck there forever, forever unsure, forever waiting for the axe to fall.
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A friendship, a story, or a conversation with a stranger were just vessels.
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Never give the future any of your mind.
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To seek perfection in my work is to deny perfection’s existence.
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A writer’s currency, which is also every person’s currency, is how it feels to be alive at any given moment.
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It’s tempting to think life would be better if this were all that greeted you each morning, but you know the truth.
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As soon as I stop worrying and doubting and controlling and just get out of the way, life happens in the form of a story.
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No writing blog today, just a gentle reminder: Vote.
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I saw the same buildings and sky, listened to the same conversations and music, lived in the same house, was married to the same woman, but I saw a different world.
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When I get really twisted up about results, about how good my stuff is or what other people think of it, it’s only because I’m hoping some result will leave me feeling as good as the best day of writing always does.
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The only way to allow myself to be surprised, to create an inviting environment for inspired ideas, is to keep my attention on the road I can see, and not worry about the roads I can’t.
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