I Am Gripped By An Existential Panic.

Eventually Everyone Has To Hit The Dark Side Of Life - Someone Doesn't Like You, Someone Doesn't Like Your Work, Someone Doesn't Love You Back... People Die. What We Have Is A Generation Who Are Super-confident And Super-positive About Things, But When The Least Bit Of Darkness Enters Their Lives, They're Paralyzed.

I Do Tend To Look At My Books In Many Ways As Conceptual Fiction, Even To The Point Where I Think The Author's Photograph Is Part Of The Package. And I Have Gone Out Of My Way To Select The Photograph To Connect To The Subject Matter Of Each Book.

And As Things Fell Apart, Nobody Paid Much Attention

The Snowy Owl Has Eyes That Look Just Like Mine, Especially When It Widens Them. And While I Stand There, Staring At It, Lowering My Sunglasses, Something Unspoken Passes Between Me And The Bird - There's This Weird Kind Of Tension, A Bizarre Pressure, That Fuels The Following, Which Starts, Happens, Ends, Very Quickly.

I Think The '80s Created Me, In A Way, When I Look Back On That Time, But I Don't Necessarily Think That A Lot Of My Choices, And A Lot Of Things That I Did, And A Lot Of Things That Happened To Me - Or I Let Happen To Me - Were About That Decade.