“Isn't it mysterious to begin a new journal like this? I can run my fingers through the fresh clean pages but I cannot guess what the writing on them will be.”

“It never failed—I'd buy a new journal, write like a madwoman for ten pages, then lose total interest in the process. Three months later, I'd start the whole process all over again. I think I just liked buying new notebooks.”

“Beginning a novel is always hard. It feels like going nowhere. I always have to write at least 100 pages that go into the trashcan before it finally begins to work. It's discouraging, but necessary to write those pages. I try to consider them pages -100 to zero of the novel.”

“I know that there will always be someone who won't get the stories, or who won't like them. You cannot please everyone, unfortunately. It won't stop me from writing. Nothing can do that, because it has always been my passion.It's like the stories live inside of me, and they project onto the page through my typing and my pencil. I can see them play like movies on a screen, and to me, they are beautiful.”

“What's so special about me?" There isn't anything specialabout you, at least, nothing I can put my finger on. And yet and here's the mystery of life - Ican't think of anything else.”

“I am running into a new year and the old years blow back like a wind that I catch in my hair like strong fingers like all my old promises and it will be hard to let go of what I said to myself about myself when I was sixteen and twenty-six and thirty-six but I am running into a new year and I beg what i love and I leave to forgive me.”