Things seem to fall apart inevitably.

There is no American history. There is no French history. There is no John Wideman. There are all these dreams that are floating around. People construct them and fight with them and criticize them, and the world goes on. I don't think the stars pay much attention.

My grandfather had asked me many times whether I'd like to come to South Carolina with him. He wanted to introduce me to our people down there and I didn't want to go. In those days, the South was still a place where black kids were lynched. Something horrible could happen to you. I've had that feeling my whole life.

Things seem to fall apart inevitably.

I'm still vulnerable and still weak.

As a writer, you don't know what the hell you're doing. You're just doing it. You hope it works out well.

I really dislike it when people talk about "experimental," because any good writer is experimental.