One is a story about a girl forced to deal with an abusive parent who uses her imagination and a special set of paintings to escape her torment. The other is a story about a cafe, the only place where the last of humanity can come together for a cup of joe. Which one will…

Probably one of the most common questions asked of someone who takes hundreds of hours (hours they could have used to do something else) to perform an act that will likely never bear any fruit, and, even if it were to, would result in a very sad fruit. Why write? “Because I can’t not write”…

Today I crossed the halfway mark on the second editing pass of the horror novel I started last November. What is it about that magical 50%? Whether it’s a bicycle race, reading a novel or writing one, somehow hitting that 50% mark makes it feel like the task is doable. I’ve got the hard part…

I’ve wondered why I dig down so deep into the heads of the characters I write that I have trouble climbing out of the holes, when at the same time, I’ve always had trouble understanding what others in real life think or feel. Then it came to me: constantly having to imagine what others think…

Starting this week, I’ve finally dug my heels into the third draft on the third novel-length story. It’s interesting how the evolution of emotion always goes the same way: 1st draft – why am I writing this? 2nd draft – wow, this is going to be a lot of work… 3rd draft – hey, this…