Life doesn't have plots and subplots and denouements. It's just a big collection of loose ends and dangling threads that never get explained.

Consciousness, rather than being something that we have, is something we participate in.

I'm lucky to have a job doing something I really love to do, and I'm happy to accept the pressures of relentless deadlines or reader expectations as necessary evils. It's probably not as stressful as mining coal or leading men into battle.

I don't ignore continuity, and try my best to stick as closely to the current status quo as possible, but it's not my primary concern when I start a story.

Oh, yes! Fill the churches with dirty thoughts! Introduce honesty to the White House! Write letters in dead languages to people you've never met! Paint filthy words on the foreheads of children! Burn your credit cards and wear high heels! Asylum doors stand open! Fill the suburbs with murder and rape! Divine madness! Let there be ecstasy, ecstasy in the streets! Laugh and the world laughs with you!

I write dozens and dozens of pages more than I need, and then edit them down to size. It's more like sculpture than construction.

It's so horrible to realize you're just the same as everyone else, isn't it?