I have found little distinction between better writing and more honest writing.
Social convention isn’t worth the effort if it robs you of meaning.
The best time to read is night, the best time to write is morning, and the best way to focus is quiet.
Dangerous, using the same word to describe lasting fulfillment as with someone who happens to be smiling.
Trying to always be happy is the most futile effort–an impossibility with the promise that you will ever again think only one kind of thought.
So happens, there are infinitely more wrong words than right ones.
The Right Words exist for everything.
Writing is itchy.
Reality was pretty damn loud this week.
The creative process begins the moment I silence reality.