“Write poorly.Suck.Write Awful.Terribly.Frightfully.Don’t care.Turn off the inner editor.Let yourself write.Let it flow.Let yourself fail.Do something crazy.Write 50,000 words in the month of November.I did it.It was fun.It was insane.It was 1,667 words per day.It was possible, but you have to turn off the inner critic off completely.Just write.Quickly.In bursts.With joy.If you can’t write, run away.Come back.Write again.Writing is like anything else.You won’t get good at it immediately.It’s a craft.You have to keep getting better.You don’t get to Juilliard unless you practice.You want to get to Carnegie Hall?Practice. Practice. Practice ..or give them a lot of money.Like anything else it takes 10,000 hours to get to mastery.Just like Malcolm Gladwell says.So write.Fail.Get your thoughts down.Let it rest.Let is marinate.Then edit, but don’t edit as you type.That just slows the brain down.Find a daily practice.For me it’s blogging.It’s fun.The more you write the easier it gets.The more it is a flow, the less a worry.It’s not for school, it’s not for a grade, it’s just to get your thoughts out there.You know they want to come out.So keep at it.Make it a practice.Write poorly.Write awfully.Write with abandon and it may end up being really really good.”

“Jack: "Isn't your real name like Seven or Thirteen or something like that? I don't get why you picked Six. it's possibly the worst number you could pick." Six: "I'm going to accept your insults for that they are. Just your way of burying your devastation over my impending absence." Jack: Bury my insults wherever you want. There'll be more to come when you get back in six months.”

“Karen shuts the back door and turns to me. “You know I trust you, but please…”“Don’t get pregnant,” I interrupt. “I know, I know. You’ve been saying that every time you leave for the past two years. I’m not getting pregnant, Mom. Only terribly high and cracked out.”She laughs and hugs me. “Good girl. And wasted. Don’t forget to get really wasted.”

“Speaking of… does this mean you get your phone back?” I shrug. “I don’t really want that phone back. I’m hoping my whipped boyfriend will get me an iPhone for Christmas.”

“You’re attracted to me?” “Oh, God,” I groan. “That’s the last thing you need for your ego.” “That’s probably true,” he laughs. “Better hurry up and insult me before my ego gets as big as yours.” “You need a hair cut,” I blurt out. “Really bad. It gets in your eyes and you squint and you’re constantly moving it out of the way like you’re Justin Bieber and it’s really distracting.”

“Sometimes life gets in your way. it gets all up in your damn way. But it doesn't get all up in your damn waybecause it wants you to just give up and let it take control. Life doesn't get all up in your damn way because it just wants you to hand it all over and be carried along. Life wants you to fight itLearn how to make it your own. it wants you to grab and axe and hack through the wood. It wants you to get a sledgehammer and break through concrete. It wants you to grab a torch and burn through the metal and steel until you can reach through and grab it. Life wants you to grab all the organized, the alphabetized, the chronological, the sequenced. It wants you to mix it all together, stir it up, blend it.”

“I love how (last one, I swear) when we watched The Forces of Natureand Sandra Bullock walked away in the end and I was screaming at theTV for such an ugly ending, you just shrugged your shoulders and said,“It’s real, Six. You can’t get mad at a real ending. Some of them are ugly.It’s the fake happily ever afters that should piss you off.”I’ll never forget that, because you were right”