A journal, more or less, of my experiences and musings as a working writer.
She was younger than he and not a beauty. Too much care had tarnished her features. Under the long coat, he knew, was a slender attractive figure. It was that, he could now confess that had first drawn his attention. But it was her spirit that had ensnared him. She compelled in a way a mere beauty could never have.
Whenever I write anything, I imagine only one person is going to read it.
We long to visit other worlds, other planes—Færieland, Elysium, Asgard—as easily as stepping through a door.
In horror movies, the closed door is a source of terror. Properly, such doors should be a source of wonder.
Next time you find a small, oddly shaped, or out of place door. Try the handle. You never know what wonders might await you on the other side.
Selling one’s own writing is as noble an endeavour as whoring on a street corner.
If you are not in, or aspiring to be in writing as a profession, think carefully before you open your mouth around me to tell me how to write.
If it’s going to be negative, shut the fuck up. You will regret ignoring this friendly warning, believe me.