Writer and local menace. Currently working in costume shops around New York. For press and inquiries, reach me at my couch.
Today is Ted Dickerson’s 84th birthday. Or his 4,534,119,982,103rd birthday if you count his other lives, which he, of course, does. Either way, he’s determined to make it his last.
Settle down and focus on the task at hand, which is, as it always should be: Writing the best story you can. Everything to come is not your problem. Not yet, anyway, and not unless you’re lucky.
Here’s your homework: get to thinking. And seeing. And separating you from yourself so the two can finally meet.
The only thing your heroes all have in common is that they work really fucking hard. And it’s only through doing this work, quietly and in the background, that you can ever hope to have a respected career.
To a global community of creatives.
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