Resolution and conclusion are inherent in a plot-driven narrative.

I don’t know what’s the matter with me, why I’m so adept at distance, why I feel so remote from things, why life feels like a rumor.

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.

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 wonderfully self-lacerating, probably to my character's detriment. I'm terribly open to critique.

The novel is dead. Long live the antinovel, built from scraps.

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