All discouragement and despair are an expression of erroneous fortunetelling.
Read More
The choice to start again will always be available, just the as fearful questions will be waiting to challenge you again.
Read More
That’s the beauty of stories. Once we’re finished telling them, they belong to the reader.
Read More
No one can really tell you you’re good enough in a way that will really matter.
Read More
Where you are will always be somewhere when you ask yourself why you’re there.
Read More
People, after all, are creative by nature.
Read More
We don’t describe the entire room, just the crooked lampshade, the stain on the ceiling, the threadbare rug.
Read More
I can’t clap my hands like a potentate and see joy delivered on a platter. I can, however, expect it.
Read More
I’ve lived years, decades even, within a spell I’ve cast on myself.
Read More
When you write, it’s your job to describe a sunrise or passing traffic as if observed for the first time.
Read More
A friendship, a story, or a conversation with a stranger were just vessels.
Read More
We’re no saint, and how embarrassing, how shameful, when the world learns we’ve been posing as one.
Read More
The stories I read need me to bring them to life; until I do, they are just lines on a page.
Read More
To stay interested we have to acknowledge that we are changed by what we make and that those changes cannot be undone
Read More
To tell this new story, I must see it – not invent it, and not even believe it.
Read More
Life is a current, not a fractured collection of events, and certainly not a static object to be studied and dismantled.
Read More
Everything was about life, really. Even eulogies were about life.
Read More
Readers and writers often segregate themselves through the natural selection of preference.
Read More
I’ve come to see my page not so much as blank but mirror-like.
Read More
It was as if the sales report were a terminal diagnosis from my doctor.
Read More