My writing process, such as it is, consists of a lot of noodling, procrastinating, dawdling, and avoiding.

Marriage is not a ritual or an end. It is a long, intricate, intimate dance together and nothing matters more than your own sense of balance and your choice of partner.

I wasn't surprised to find myself in the back of Mr. Klein's store, wearing only my undershirt and panties, surrounded by sable.

I have made the best and happiest ending that I can in this world, made it out of the flax and netting and leftover trim of someone else's life, I know, but made it to keep the innocent safe and the guilty punished, and I have made it as the world should be and not as I have found it.

Some people are your family no matter when you find them, and some people are not, even if you are laid, still wet and crumpled, in their arms.

You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.

For me, the short story is the depth of a novel, the breadth of a poem, and, as you come to the last few paragraphs, the experience of surprise.