It's often been said that I'm an extremely depressing, cynical writer. I've never known what to make of that.

People forget years and remember moments.

It seems to me that the problem with diaries, and the reason that most of them are so boring, is that every day we vacillate between examining our hangnails and speculating on cosmic order.

When I lived in New York, not only did I have safety locks on the door but I had the music going, keeping the city at a distance, trying to find creative time and peace and so forth.

I think I write about things that are mysterious to me.

I like a lot of Margaret Atwood, I like much of Alice Munro. Again, if you were to ask me about male writers, there's often a novel I admire, but not all of their works.

Falling in Place was meant to be very much rooted in a place and time, and music was a part of that.