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My writing shrine promotes:
Relentless abandon and complete surrender to inhibition.
My writing shrine guards against:
The Demon named “Distraction,” and I have named his avatar “X-Box.”
My writing shrine’s paternal saint is:
I have three: the holy trinity.
The first is Hunter Thompson, the Patron Saint of Fearlessness, who taught me the purity of self-indulgence.
The second is the Gray Crane, Greg Stafford, who taught me how to see the worlds spinning in my mind.
The third is Harlan Ellison, the Avatar of Righteous Anger, who taught me a writer must defend himself against all dangers, even the ones he creates for himself.
I have a whole pantheon of others, but these will do for now.
My writing shrine’s maternal saint is:
The three-faced Goddess.
Tanith Lee, who taught me how to lure demons and tame them with fingers and tongues.
Dorothy Parker, who gave me wit with her barbed kisses.
There is another I cannot name–I dare not name–so great is her wrath.
My writing shrine’s three relics are:
SenZar. It reminds me I am not the hack I imagine myself to be.
A medallion given to me by The Great and Mighty Stafford.
The promise of a kiss from She Who Shall Not Be Named, when I write for her the words that will win her heart.
My writing shrine demands a daily sacrifice of:
Five thousand words, a six-pack of Coke, and any woman whom I dare to love.