If I'm reading a book and it seems truly interesting, I tend to start reading back to front in order not to be too deeply under the sway of progress.

Story seems to say that everything happens for a reason and I want to say, No, it doesn’t.

The beauty of reality-based art - art underwritten by reality hunger - is that it's perfectly situated between life itself and (unattainable) "life as art".

In my own little way, I feel like I'm part of a group of writers who care deeply about pushing the essay forward.

I'm not interested in collage as the refuge of the composition-ally disabled. I'm interested in collage as (to be honest) an evolution beyond narrative.

Genre is a minimum security prison.

Momentum, in literary mosaic, derives not from narrative but from the subtle, progressive buildup of thematic resonances.