she slammed the door andwas gone.I looked at the closed doorand at the doorknoband strangelyI didn't feelalone.

Just because something isn__ good doesn__ mean it__ bad.

Struggling alone, like the everyday and ending with the same fate.

Long after the other voices had dropped away, Sam kept howling, very soft and slow.When he finally fell silent, the night felt dead. Sitting was intolerable. I stood up, paced, clenched and unclenched my hands into fists. Finally I took the guitar that Sam had played and I screamed and smashed it into pieces on Dad's desk.

When you are convinced that what you offer is yours, whether it be mediocre or of standard quality, your originality will make people love you in a way you did not expect.

Writing is such a solitary occupation that it takes a long time to build up a group of professional peers with whom you genuinely identify.