I don't know where everything is going, but I'm pretty confident that people like books - the objects. So I'm going to go on that -they're not going to disappear.

I'm never sure who I'm writing for, or who's reading me, but I definitely see myself in conspiracy with my readers.

It's easy now, now that it's a story. When you were going through it, it was life. Always much harder to get the plot line on.

Some moments supersaturate, take on almost more than one tiny fragment of time can hold. How...can you hold this sort of memory of someone and at the same time just try to seem normally, regularly, pleased when she comes back to visit for a few days every few years?

You come from the city and think small means simple when all it realy means is complicated in a smaller place. Which sometimes adds to the complication.

I never write in a linear way. And I tell students not to. You can only know so much about a book when you first start.

I think we are all coming to realize the web in all its manifestations is a sucking time hole.