Writing Is The Lonely Sport Of Sad

There Is Part Of Me That Longs To Have The Back-to-the-earth Life - Make My Own Bread, Grow My Own Wheat, Just Be Really Self-sufficient - But I Am Not, At The Moment, Willing To Give Up The Luxury Of Modern Life, And Amazing Schools For My Kids, And Things That I've Come To Rely On That Are Parts Of Society.

I Feel Like In American Fiction We're Moving Out Of A Period Of Intense Irony, And I'm Very Glad About That. I Feel Like Irony Is Fine For Its Own Sake But Shouldn't Be The Sole Reason To Write A Book. It Has Been An Ironic World View: That's The Best Way I Can Describe It. I'm A Fan Of Earnestness. I Feel Like There's A New Wave Of Earnestness And I'd Be Happy If I'm Some Small Part Of That.

She Would Always Feel This Wild Girl Was The Truest Of Any Of The People She Had Already Been: Adored Daughter, Bourgeois Priss, Rebel, Runaway, Dope-fiend San Francisco Hippie; Or All The People She Would Later Be: Mother, Nurse, Religious Fanatic, Prematurely Old Woman. Vivienne Was A Human Onion, And When I Came Home At Twenty Eight Years Old On The Day The Monster Died, I Was Afraid That The Baptist Freak She Had Peeled Down To Was Her True, Acrid, Tear-inducing Core.

I Think Attempting To Make Art Is A Utopian Process In Itself, Definitely. Nothing I Do Is Ever Equal To The Ideas In My Head. You Do The Best You Can, You Do It With Patience And Love, And Then You Give Up. The Moment You Give Up Is When You Know The Book Is Done.

I Have A Feeling That Books Are A Lot Like People - They Change As You Age, So That Some Books That You Hated In High School Will Strike You With The Force Of A Revelation When You're Older.