I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. I am Jack's Broken Heart.

I remember selling my first short story and thinking, Oh my god, I sold something for fifty dollars! That gives me the authority to say I'm a writer and to actually write more things! It legitimized the activity.

How folks lay claim to a loved one is they give you a name of their own. They figure to label you as their property.

Some stories, you use up. Others use you up.

At the last minute, I couldn't wear the Hitler mustache because Tiger Stripe ate it; and then I didn't want to take my kitty and risk his coughing up some big Nazi hairball on someone's front stoop.

The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up.

I take a lot of flak from the counter-establishment for selling out.