an organized mess

Celebrate the rain. It comes as a prologue of a great story.

you wanted us to be like a story the problem is, all books end

Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colours. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.

Some writing doesn’t brush up against sentimentality as often as other writing. But whatever ‘bad’ edge your writing brushes up against, I think it’s important to touch it. You can always pull back from it, but at least you know where it is. It’s like when I was a dancer, we were always encouraged to fall in rehearsal, so that you could know what the tipping point of any given movement was. That way, when you did it on the stage, you could be sure you were taking it to the edge without falling on your face. It sounds like a cliché, but really it’s just physics — if you don’t touch the fulcrum, you’ll never gain a felt sense of it, and your movement will be impoverished for it.

A failure is not always a mistake, it may simply be the best one can do under the circumstances. The real mistake is to stop trying.

But the thought of moving on from something I never had is depressing.

You are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy.

I wish I could be more.

When a writer puts words on paper, it is an intimate act. The reader hears your words in his voice and he becomes the bones of your story. The reader is the foundation that you wrap in muscle and sinew. You build the hero on the reader’s delicate frame until your story is his story. Your sorrow is his; your joy is a communion you both celebrate.

Writing, and plot specifically, can be almost universally defined as people being miserable in interesting ways.