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.

Fading light buttered the ridges until shadows licked them clean and they were lost to nightfall.

I felt like a number of things in me as a writer just clicked.

I've bumped into at least three people in town who all insist 'Winter's Bone' is about them.

I have a book in the pipeline of short stories. You want to hear an agent scream, say 'I'm thinking about doing a collection of short stories set in the Ozarks.

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

There's an overlap between social-realist fiction and crime fiction - a sweet spot there.