The opening novel of the 'Bayou Trilogy' was the first one I finished.

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

I had been born shoved to the margins of the world, sure, but I had volunteered for the pits.

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.

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

Love and hate hold hands always so it made natural sense that they'd get confused by upset married folk in the wee hours once in a while and a nosebleed or bruised breast might result. But it just seemed proof that a great foulness was afoot in the world when a no-strings roll in the hay with a stranger led to chipped teeth or cigarette burns on the wrist.

He unscrewed the lid, set it on the dash, snorted from the bottle twice, banged the steering wheel, and said, 'You got to be ready to die every day - then you got a chance.'