Look how black the sky is, the writer said. I made it that way.

Price. You're priceless.

Open the hood of a car and it will tell you something about the people who designed it, is just one of many phrases I’m tortured by.

Rock 'n' roll. Deal with it.

It's like my characters, all my men are Dad and me in a mess; all my female characters are smart and hopeful, like Mom just trying to make the best of things.

When we sat down to eat I took inventory of the people in the room, and the remnants of my good mood evaporated when I realized how very little I had in common with them – the career dads, the responsible and diligent moms – and I was soon filled with dread and loneliness. I locked in on the smug feeling of superiority that married couples give off and that permeated the air – the shared assumptions, the sweet and contented apathy, it all lingered everywhere – despite the absence in the room of anyone single at which to aim this.

My pain is constant and sharp...this confession has meant nothing