I think what tends to embarrass me most is how much I struggle at the little things that seem to come so easily to most people, mainly involving routine and self-care. It's hard for me to do things like cook a meal, not be in a constant apocalyptically late rush everywhere I go, to put something back when I'm finished with it. I seem to be hardwired for chaos and disorganization.

exercise will never be my lover. Or even my friend. For me, a workout is more like an annoying coworker I have to see a few times a week.

During my MFA, I was lucky to be surrounded by a really supportive group of peers. And now I get feedback pretty exclusively from freaks only.

It was just such a complete shock to turn on the news one day and see someone that you know, someone you have passed in the halls of your high school. It got me thinking, 'Well, what are some novels that are about female sexual psychopaths? I really didn't have many references for that, and I felt like that was a void in transgressive literature that I wanted to fill.'

My poor family. I try to protect them from my work. My parents are very religious, and my brother and sister are very normal. We have an understanding, I think, that what I do isn't quite down their alley.

My writing circle isn't too full of people who fall into the "Customers Who Bought This Item Also Bought Tuesdays With Morrie" category.

With surgical insight, Inside Madeline delves into the most complex female territory imaginable and dissects until every honest bone is revealed. Bomer's prose doesn't flinch, doesn't filter-the bravery of these stories left me breathless.