I love to write, so it rarely seems like work - even when it gets arduous.

Which would be worse - to live as a monster, or to die as a good man?

I was blessed to grow up in really interesting times and to go back to a home where I was very safe.

This world can only give me reminders of what I don't have, can never have, didn't have for long enough.

L.A. burns, and so many other cities smolder, waiting for the hose that will flood gasoline over the coals, and we listen to politicians who fuel our hate and our narrow views and tell us it's simply a matter of getting back to basics while they sit in their beachfront properties and listen to the surf so they won't have to hear the screams of the drowning.

I sort of play golf because a lot of my friends are into it, but I'm awful - my handicap is about six or seven thousand.

Everyone sees different things.