When anybody starts out with a memoir, you get the impulse to tell your own story with your own voice, and you get all that out in one fell swoop sometimes.

We would oppose the turning of the planet and refuse the setting of the sun.

But I'm thinking about 12 things at once, a hundred thousand times a day. Most people do, I would imagine.

It all meant something. Until it didn't.

I've always been interested in the form itself, so I always feel like I've never been good at going ahead with the artifice and not acknowledging the self in the artistic process, and not acknowledging the absurdity of pretending that's required in fiction.

A combination of acting, lying, begging, and cheating.

I hung up the phone, jubilant, and threw myself into a wall, then pretended to be getting electrocuted. I do this when I'm very happy.