Never start on a broken heart.
Send the least prepared on the journey.
Aim is inversely proportionate to malice.
Embrace is overrated. Love manifests itself in acts unseen.
Most dogs like being petted. No one cares about those dogs.
Accommodate rainbows and twisters alike. Don’t write easy gate latches.
Return to the crime scene no more than twice.
Abandon satire for absurdity halfway through act three.
The underdog is the slit of color in the bud – say, the mousy man who writes attic librettos
on winter nights.
Cultivate a petty addiction to sincerity. Nota bene: lust comes back like a witty retort.
There is always a bug in the soup.
Only accept the worlds you create.
Have someone say “Since I hate you, take these petunias.” Have someone else take them.
Suggested improvements on the word “gun”:
Musket ordnance rod Uzi equalizer 9mm peashooter bazooka rifle howitzer pistol flintlock pistol blaster persuader revolver .38 Saturday-night special
Swap satire for absurdity in act two if you must but pet the damn dog first.
Don’t write Finis without a kiss.
Don’t let your hero take an environmentalist to dinner unless you want him to learn how
we’re all spitting in our own food.
Liv Lansdale studies fiction and sustainable development at Columbia University. She can often be found in the East Village, talking strangers into choosing wind energy providers over gas and electric. She divides her time between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.