No one wants to read your stuff. Not even your mom. You are too politically incorrect. You can’t write. Who do you even read? “I think...

Oh, rejection. It’s a shriveled orange. It’s the spider inside the banana. It’s a human’s lot and a writer’s eighty-acre wood. And if...

What else can you be doing? Everything. Everything will always want to come first. Everything will seduce you. Everything will tell you...