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I take two hours off for my family every day. And then I write fourteen hours.
My mother turned me onto St. Jude back in the days when I was wild and crazy. She took me to the shrine on Rampart Street.
I broke in with four hits, and the writers promptly declared they had seen the new Ty Cobb. It took me only a few days to correct that impression.
I tried to kickbox once right after I had my first baby, and I was so miserable; it was so hard. And I went home, and I passed out for three hours because it's so hard.
If he is a ghost, then it's very disappointing for me, because he is banished in the story, and that could mean that he won't be coming back, and that would be terrible, wouldn't it?
It takes a village to raise a child; that's how I basically balance it. It's twenty four hours in a day.
As a child, I was obsessed with drawing things, like Mickey and Donald. And houses. My mother was worried I'd become an artist.
Catch me on a good day, I think half of my books aren't too bad. Catch me on a bad day, I think I've never written a good line.
I did feel when my mother died if anyone was going to haunt me it would be her. And she hasn't, so I think it is possibly the end.