The recipe for great art has always been misery and a good bowel movement.

When you're writing what you love, it's the most fun you can have with your clothing still on, unless of course, you write naked.

Love it when a compelling new character kicks open your mental door, tracks mud across your brain, and props their feet up on your cerebrum.

Kindness, motherfucker, kindness.

Nothing says work efficiency like panic mode.

I don't use big words to show off because it's ostentatious.

Don't think about the writing process too much. Just do one thing: tell the motherfucking story.

There was talk of the Centaur being moved into the elephant cages to make room for a banjo-picking Minotaur. Surrendering his meager furnishings to a musical half man half bull was all bull.