You take something from your past that you're somewhat ashamed about and you write about it from another character's point of view.

Some memories remain close; you can shut your eyes and find yourself back in them. But there are second-person memories, too, distant you memories, and these are trickier: you watch yourself in disbelief.

There was a time when self-promotion was considered so verboten, especially for authors.

I'm certainly eclectic in my writing.

Maybe every couple lived in the gaps between conversations, unable to say the important things for fear they had already been said, or couldn't be said; maybe every relationship started over every time two people came together.

He found himself in habiting the vast, empty plateau where most people live, between boredom and contentment.

His life was two lives now: the life he would have and the life he would forever wonder about.