I got brilliant stories from people who'd never set foot in an MFA program and had published very little, and terrible stories from people who'd published a lot and had all the credentials. It was all over the map and that was part of the fun.

Somewhere along the way America became a giant mall with a country attached.

I realized I was never going to have any peace with myself unless I made an honest stab at trying to write.

The funny thing is, about the time I let go of any aspiration toward worldly success, that's about the time I started writing decent work.

It took me 10 years to write a story that pleased me - that I could look at after it was published and not cringe.

The Kessler Theater is one such gem, an Art Deco beauty … for a slice of real life, there’s always the Kessler.

I have a horror of being self-indulgent and wasting time, and there is that risk in doing this kind of work. Are you totally deluded in sitting down at a desk every day and trying to write something? Is it self-indulgent, or might it possibly lead to something worthwhile? At a certain point I decided to keep on because I felt like the work was getting better, and I was taking great pleasure in that.