I Want A Chainsaw Very Badly, Because

When My Son Was Born, And After A Day Of Lying-in I Was Told That I Could Leave The Hospital And Take Him Home, I Burst Into Tears. It Wasn't The Emotion Of The Moment: It Was Shock And Horror.

The World Is So Huge That People Are Always Getting Lost In It. There Are Too Many Ideas And Things And People Too Many Directions To Go. I Was Starting To Believe That The Reason It Matters To Care Passionately About Something Is That It Whittles The World Down To A More Manageable Size. It Makes The World Seem Not Huge And Empty But Full Of Possibility.

Why, I Wonder, Should The Popularity Of A News Story Matter To Me? Does It Mean It's A Good Story Or Just A Seductive One?

When I Was A Kid, Halloween Was Strictly A Starchy-vegetable-only Holiday, With Pumpkins And Indian Corn On The Front Stoop; There Was Nothing Electric, Nothing Inflatable, Nothing With Latex Membranes Or Strobes.

Writing About Unknown People Means I Spend A Lot Of Time Arguing To The Reader About Why It's Worth Knowing About Them. That's Challenging, But Then The Piece Is Pure Discovery.