It is the moment I breathe for the first time that I appreciate what I otherwise do every moment of every day.
Read MoreIf I’m disciplined, there’s a pleasure in recognizing what I want to change, like seeing a part of myself I’ve not acknowledged.
Read MoreWhenever I try to travel back in time and rewrite the choices I made I can feel how unnatural it would have been for me.
Read MoreI don’t want to tell the same story twice, and the page is so utterly blank, and, most importantly, I am not quite the same person I was yesterday.
Read MoreWe don’t really choose our stories; they always choose us.
Read MoreI told myself it didn’t matter how long it took to write it, that it didn’t matter if I never finished it, I would not write it to try to please her.
Read MoreWhen I write what I want to read, it means I’m giving to others what I wish to receive.
Read MoreIf weren’t allowed to quit, then we would stay bound to whatever project or idea first came to us.
Read MoreEventually every creative person must accept that they were never actually waiting for anyone’s approval or recognition.
Read MoreThere it is, the thing you didn’t know but knew you’d like when you saw it.
Read MoreI used to think it would be a good idea if everyone liked what I liked.
Read MoreI know firsthand how easy it is to lose sight of why we’re actually here.
Read MoreEvery time I chose a word that fit as effortlessly as a puzzle piece into a sentence, I felt the necessity and resonance of my choices within myself.
Read MoreI certainly like things that are easy, but I also like a friendly world, and that sometimes requires me to take care.
Read MoreIf no one else can see it, read it, or hear it, is it even real?
Read MoreA story needs an author and an audience, and each of us were both that evening.
Read MoreI saw no connection between what I was doing and what I was thinking.
Read MoreIf you have told your story as you most want to tell it, then you can indeed expect it to be accepted somewhere.
Read MoreThe action of putting words on the page is merely the very last step in a process that takes place almost entirely within the formless interior of the imagination.
Read MoreEverything we’ve ever done is for us.
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