A Lot Of Readers Have

Whenever I Wrote Fiction, People Always Seemed To Think That What I Wrote Was True, That It Was Entirely Autobiographical. And When I Would Write Non-fiction, They Often Accused Me Of Exaggeration And Fictionalization.

I Didn't Think I Was In A Morbid Mood, But It Appears I Am. My Mind Goes Round And Round Trying To Figure Things Out, But I Always Come Back To The Same Two Things: Loneliness And Death. Life Ends Before We Figure Anything Out, Most Importantly How Not To Be Lonely. Solitude Is Fine. But Feeling Like You Have No One To Love - Abject Lonliness - Is Not Alright.

I Don't Really Recognise Success. I Don't See Myself As On An Upwardly Mobile Trajectory. I See Myself As On The Edge Of A Cliff About To Fall Off.

I Live For Coincidences. They Briefly Give To Me The Illusion Or The Hope That There's A Pattern To My Life, And If There's A Pattern, Then Maybe I'm Moving Toward Some Kind Of Destiny Where It's All Explained.

I Have Very Few Hobbies. In Fact, I Have No Hobbies.