Nonfiction, qua label, is nothing more or less than a very flexible (easily breakable) frame that allows you to pull the thing away from narrative and toward contemplation, which is all I've ever wanted.

Everything I write, I believe instinctively, is to some extent collage. Meaning, ultimately, is a matter of adjacent data.

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

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.

With relatively few exceptions, the novel sacrifices too much, for me, on the altar of plot.

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