The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4am knows all my secrets.
Some nights are made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.
Sometimes we gotta be brave even when we’re scared. We gotta not let being scared keep us from thinkin’ straight. That’s all brave is, boy, when you come right down to it, not lettin’ the fear get you so turned around you start doin’ stupid things, instead of what you know you ought to do.
You hold onto what you have; you do not give it up easily, even when you know it is poisoning you.
In high school I was the dog, always, and I never have felt comfortable or right in my body, and part of my whole exhibitionist thing has probably been a way of testing to see whether or not I really was this repulsive creature that I felt like for so long.
If you’re ever lucky enough to belong somewhere, if a place takes you in and you take it into yourself, you don’t desert it just because it can kill you. There are things more valuable than life.
I certainly wanted to write a book that was honest about New Orleans without explaining it to death, so much so that the first draft contained references absolutely incomprehensible to anyone who hasn’t lived here for several years.
I can’t heal your pain but I can see it. And you don’t have to be lost. Not forever.
Never relinquish your terrors. That’s when they catch you.
Delete nothing. Move nothing. Change nothing. Learn everything.
I don’t think it is possible to give tips for finding one’s voice; it’s one of those things for which there aren’t really any tricks or shortcuts, or even any advice that necessarily translates from writer to writer. All I can tell you is to write as much as possible.