I've just finished reading Reality Hunger and I'm lit up by it-astonished, intoxicated, ecstatic, overwhelmed. . . . It really is an urgent book: a piece of art-making itself, a sublime, exciting, outrageous, visionary volume.

I try not to become too regular an addict of any one subculture.

I plan less and less. It's a great benefit of writing lots, that you get good at holding long narratives in your head like a virtual space.

However appalling to consider, however tedious to enact, every novel requires furniture, whether it is to be named or unnamed, for the characters will be unable to remain in standing position for the duration of the story.

My heart and the elevator, a plummet inside a plummet.

When people call something "original," 9 out of 10 times they just don't know the references or original sources involved.

I can't bear the silent ringing in my skull.