I wanted to write a voice that for me, as a reader, had been missing from the chorus: the voice of an angry woman.

I wanted to write a voice that for me, as a reader, had been missing from the chorus: the voice of an angry woman.

An abiding preoccupation for me is how much of our lives are invisible and unknown by other people like the Chekhov story The Lady With the Little Dog.

There questions of wanting to be an artist, and what does that mean, what makes you an artist? Are you an artist if you're in a gallery in New York and not an artist if you're doing it at home? Do you need legitimation to count? If you've been acculturated to believe that you have certain obligations - familial, social, human - if multitasking has been your forte and that's what's been praised and rewarded, where do you find the single-mindedness, the selfishness to do something like art? I think those are questions that arise differently for women and for men.

I've always felt that if a project seems easy, or even attainable, why pursue it? I'll always find the hardest path.

If you’re reading to find friends, you’re in deep trouble. We read to find life, in all its possibilities. The relevant question isn’t ‘Is this a potential friend for me?’ but ‘Is this character alive?'

Yes, writing is essential to me. It's my way of living in the world.