As Much As I Remember, I Just

Comedy Is Not Pretty.

The Streets Of L.a. Undulate Over Short Hills As Though A Finger Is Poking The Landscape From Underneath ... Laid Over This Crosshatch Are Streets Meandering On The Diagonal Creating A Multitude Of Ways To Get From One Place To Another By Traveling Along The Hypotenuse. These Are The Avenues Of The Tryst Which Enable Acting Student A To Travel The Eighteen Miles Across Town To Acting Student B's Garage Apartment In Nine Minutes Flat After A Hot-blooded Phone Call At Midnight.

Some People Have A Way With Words, And Other People...oh, Uh, Not Have Way.

The Conscious Mind Is The Editor, And The Subconscious Mind Is The Writer. And The Joy Of Writing, When You're Writing From Your Subconscious, Is Beautiful - It's Thrilling. When You're Editing, Which Is Your Conscious Mind, It's Like Torture.

I Don't Think Anyone Is Ever Writing So That You Can Throw It Away. You're Always Writing It To Be Something. Later, You Decide Whether It'll Ever See The Light Of Day. But At The Moment Of Its Writing, It's Always Meant To Be Something. So, To Me, There's No Practicing; There's Only Editing And Publishing Or Not Publishing.