Tim, I couldn’t Love your ‘think’ or the power of your think more… I’m not talking about the…
Camille Wilkinson

I have written in toilet stalls.

Bus stations.

From county jails.

While skiing at Aspen.

On the beach in Key West.

I love it when the people who never leave the box, tell the poor minions who toil away in complete obscurity, being the stupid people, that we should all be writing outside the box.

What does that mean, anyway.

It’s like the publishing company who says: We seek imaginative work from entrepreneurs at startups who can think original thoughts we can understand.

Sure you do.

The balls.

I love these people who all know everything worth knowing about creativity and writing.

Is that like a degree from Brown.

Am I allowed on that campus.


Who ARE these people.

So. Here’s this writing guy giving everyone else advice whom everyone else is advising.

I would give out free advice about drugs, but I have no knowledge of them.

Did you know Marie of Romania, Barrus.

“Yes. I thought she was a nun from Albania and then she moved to India.”

She never wrote a book.

No, but Chris Hitchens did.

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