What concerns me most is the horrible degradation our notions of truth, civility, and decency have undergone. Also the way that language has been malformed - we have been overcome with banality and the cynical misuse of language. When a candidate runs a campaign on a series of dog-whistles to bigots, then turns around and talks about "healing the wounds of division," that is right out of Orwell.

I'm trying to read/edit my story as if I have no existing knowledge of the story, no investment in it, no sense of what Herculean effort went into writing page 23, no pretensions as to why the dull patch on page 4 is important for the fireworks that will happen on page 714.

I was a straight arrow, a control freak. I didn't do drugs or drink, and this was the '70s. I didn't like the loss of control. Which isn't exactly right, because I didn't know what happened when you did drugs.

So, good news/bad news: good news that I'm progressing; bad news that life is short and art is long.

Chekhov - shall I be blunt? - is the greatest short story writer who ever lived.

Compassion doesn't have to be weak or enabling; it can also be quite bold.

So here's something I know to be true, although it's a little corny, and I don't quite know what to do with it.