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

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

Gail had a baby named Ned who was four months old, and a new look of baffled hurt, a left-behind sadness, like she saw that the great world kept spinning onward and away while she'd overnight become glued to her spot.

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

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

This is how sudden things happened that haunted forever.

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