I Leave A Lot Out When I

I Think You Would Like Warren. He Drinks Courvoisier In A Coke Can, And Has A Laugh Like You'd Find In A Cartoon Bubble.

I've Always Known When I Start A Story What The Last Line Is. It's Always Been The Case, Since The First Story I Ever Wrote. I Don't Know How It's Going To Get There, But I Seem To Need The Destination. I Need To Know Where I End Up. It Never Changes, Ever.

I Probably Have Less Revision Than Those Who Have That Wonderful Rush Of Story To Tell - You Know, I Can't Wait To Tell You What Happened The Other Day. It Comes Tumbling Out And Maybe Then They Go Back And Refine. I Kind Of Envy That Way Of Working, But I Just Have Never Done It.

It Was Like That Class At School Where The Teacher Talks About Realization, About How You Could Realize Something Big In A Commonplace Thing. The Example He Gave--and The Liar Said It Really Happened--was That Once While Drinking Orange Juice, He'd Realized He Would Be Dead Someday. He Wondered If We, His Students, Had Had Similar 'realizations.' Is He Kidding? I Thought. Once I Cashed A Paycheck And I Realized It Wasn't Enough. Once I Had Food Poisoning, And Realized I Was Trapped Inside My Body.

Wear Your Heart On The Page, And People Will Read To Find Out How You Solved Being Alive.