I never listen to music when I write.
Nobody's trying to kill you, Deirdre. You're killing yourself.
My only ritual is to just sit down and write, write every day.
I'm grateful for a lot of things. One is not being a drunk wreck. Or losing all four limbs in some ridiculous East Village bus accident that I was so destined for.
There's never a false note in a Berg novel.
I couldn't help but think, This car is taking me to a mental hospital and my mother is treating it like open-mic night at a Greenwich Village café.