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".

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

Our culture is obsessed with real events because we experience hardly any.

A book should either allow us to escape existence or teach us how to endure it.

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

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

Genre is a minimum security prison.