“What’s writing anyway, but us ghosts in here singing?”
“... I don't believe in ghosts - not the scary white sheet, boogie-woogie type of ghost anyway. And yet ... I don't disbelieve either. I'm kind of sitting on the ghost fence, dangling my legs on both sides, not sure which way to jump. I think I might be here for a while.”
“Write anyway.”
“That’s writing, I suppose—dozens of decisions about what’s in, what’s out, what goes with what, what’s clever but not honest, what’s so honest that it’s a truism, what’s meretricious—and all just to produce one short sketch.”
“It's all about the writing, and of course, the ghosts.”
“That's what they should teach us here. How girls' brains work… It would be more useful than divination, anyway…”