When I started to be a writer, I was not going to run the risk of boring you.

I always loved the verve and vivacity of pulp and I kind of merged it with my own interest in family stories.

The heart's in it then, spinning dreams, and torment is on the way. The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.

Long, dark, and lovely she had been, in those days before her mind broke and the parts scattered and she let them go.

Pine trees with low limbs spread over fresh snow made a stronger vault for the spirit than pews and pulpits ever could.

Ree, brunette and sixteen, with milk skin and abrupt green eyes, stood bare-armed in a fluttering yellowed dress, face to the wind, her cheeks reddening as if smacked and smacked again.

When I left Iowa, I definitely never wanted to stand in front of a group of academics again and see if they approved of me. I made up my mind to take my work to the actual reading public.