I would like to say I use fountain pens, but really I use whatever half-chewed nightmare stick I find under the bed.

Entered a poem on the "I Write Like" website and was told that my style is similar to Dan Brown's??? No joke.

Dear Man on the Train, nobody, and I mean nobody, needs to use "societal imperative" three times in one sentence. 

I'm telling you, if I used this no-emotion email program, I would never get an email out.

I try, as much as possible, to live my life by laws established in songs.

The closest I get to a hot tub is a walk in the big apple's acid rain. It's more romantic than it sounds.

Through a radio wrong turn, discovered that heavy metal mixed with morning coffee makes for shocking writing productivity.

Oh, Wim Wenders. You can't top a library where angels can hear your thoughts.

My tired Twitter finger is telling me that perhaps it's time to cool it with the coffee for a bit.

I would sell most things I own (including body parts) to live in a library or movie theater.

I'm pretty sure that hairdresser deserves to go to hair jail for giving me a Charlie's Angels haircut in 2010.

Many days I only leave the house to buy food and the bad magazines that I sneak into my shopping basket.

Just traumatized a hotdog vendor with impromptu Marilyn Monroe-dress-subway-grate disaster. At least I wasn't wearing my Spanx.

Wednesday afternoon sighting: really old man to really young girl passing on street: "All we have is time."

I think HAL is out to get me today.

Fragmented time is my favorite kind.

Forget complex philosophies, there are only two types of people in the world--the kind that don't wear watches and the kind that do.

 In the end, it will all come down to Onion humor.

The spammers are implying that my penis is small again and I'm hurt.

Elephant riddles are always pretty, even when they contain trunk effusions. You can quote me on that.

I just hope they will say of me after I go: that Hagood, she was one good solver of riddles.

Turned my phone off and finally realized that strange, otherworldly buzzing sound was silence.

You'll be fine with Proust as long as you love lingering goodnight kisses from mama & the sweets that make you remember them.

I put my first novel under my pillow. It's still there waiting on the tooth fairy. No word yet.

I like the idea of making anything in a weekend--a sand castle, a cake, an empire.

Dear very old woman on 85th St. dressed in shades of gold that caused rubbernecking disapproval, I was silently saluting you.

Donut escape hatches are the best kind.

Sometimes we all need a way out of a wonky moment.

Writing Equation: insomnia + workaholism= sending sober 3:43 a.m. emails that have the beclouded feel of a drunk dial. sweet.