Fiction Helps Me To Reconnect With The

I Came To Hate The Complainers, With Their Dry And Crumbly Lipsticks And Their Wrinkled Rage And Their Stupid, Flaccid, Old-people Sun Hats With Brims The Breadth Of Saturn's Rings.

What Passes For News Is Just Morbid Speculation Or Cartoonish Screaming, Followed By Diaper Commercials.

It Remains Unbelievable To Me That I Have Any Readers Beyond My Own Blood Relations - It's A Crazy, Wild Gift.

I Have Friends Who Are Capable Of Writing A Very Rough Draft And Then Going Back And Embroidering - They're Sort Of The Cathedral Builders Of Fiction. I Never Really Know What I'm Doing, And All My Pleasure's On The Level Of The Line. It's A Weird Way To Move Forward. It's Kind Of Like A Way To Caterpillar Your Way Through These Great Woods. The Best Ones, Whatever I Feel Like I'm Writing About, Some Other Secret Thing Will Begin To Come Into Focus.

I'm Probably A Lot Closer Than Perhaps The Contents Of My Early Fiction Suggest To A Jaded Denny's Waitress With Smoker's-lung-black Humor Than A Ghost Hunter.