I started publishing stories in small magazines early on, but after seven or eight or nine years you feel like you need a little more than that to show for your efforts.

From about the age of 15 or 16 I'd had the notion that I wanted to write fiction, and I'd done enough in college to satisfy myself that I had a knack for it - I wouldn't call it "talent" - though I wondered if I'd ever have the guts to actually commit to it.

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

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

I really had to decide why I was writing. I had no interest in going back to law; I very briefly - for about six hours - considered going to get my MBA, but in the end, I realized that the only work I really wanted to do was 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 is sort of weird being honored for the worst day of your life.