Oh don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here, typing away in my one-bedroom Upper East Side apartment, smoking cigs and wearing Louboutins.
On deadline on TV:
I am a word-producing machine. A higher power guides me to precisely my word count, with fifteen minutes to spare.
Netflix
On deadline in reality:
The more carbs you eat, the faster you write. It's just science.
Late-night writing on TV:
Ah, another night as a writer in the big city. Just sitting here in my haute couture shawl that matches the periwinkle walls of my rent-controlled apartment, typing truths upon this Macintosh computer.
HBO
Late-night writing in reality:
Except, minus the fruit bowl. Dude, where'd you get that fruit bowl?
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