She Always Wanted To Believe In Things.

I Like The Fact That By Mimicking The Way Memory Works, A Writer Can Actually Write In A Fluid Way - One Solid Scene Doesn't Have To Fall On Another Solid Scene, You Can Just Have A Fragment That Then Dovetails Into Another One That Took Place 30 Years Apart From It.

All I Know Is That I've Wasted All These Years Looking For Something, A Sort Of Trophy I'd Get Only If I Really, Really Did Enough To Deserve It. But I Don't Want It Anymore, I Want Something Else Now, Something Warm And Sheltering, Something I Can Turn To, Regardless Of What I Do, Regardless Of Who I Become. Something That Will Just Be There, Always, Like Tomorrow's Sky. That's What I Want Now, And I Think It's What You Should Want Too. But It Will Be Too Late Soon. We'll Become Too Set To Change. If We Don't Take Our Chance Now, Another May Never Come For Either Of Us.

What Is Difficult Is The Promotion, Balancing The Public Side Of A Writer's Life With The Writing. I Think That's Something A Lot Of Writers Are Having To Face. Writers Have Become Much More Public Now.

When A Man Induces His Wife To Turn Suspicious Thoughts Against Her Own Father, Then That Is Surely Cause Enough For Resentment.

Typically In My Novels The Narrator Tells A Story By Remembering, And The Memories Are Colored By This And Colored By That. So The Whole Universe Of The Novel Tends To Be Framed By The Narrator's Memories And Thoughts.