Whatever one intends, the work takes on a life of its own.

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.

It's not about having things figured out, or about communicating with other people, trying to make them understand what you understand. It's about a chicken dinner at a drive-in. A soft pillow. Things that don't need explaining.

I am not alone in bearing grudges against reviewers who have doomed a book's chances because they've missed the point, the tone, everything.

I must say also that it's never worked to my disadvantage that I have long, blond hair.

Women are obviously much more discriminated against than men in many ways.

I don't even correct people when they mispronounce my name now.