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'm a firm believer that there are no rules in art. Every trajectory is different.

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.

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

Discomfort is very much part of my master plan.

The less you offer, the more readers are forced to bring the world to life with their own visual imaginings. I personally hate an illustration of a character on a jacket of a book. I never want to have someone show me what the character really looks like - or what some artist has decided the character really looks like - because it always looks wrong to me. I realize that I prefer to kind of meet the text halfway and offer a lot of visual collaborations from my own imaginative response to the sentences.

It was only as I wrote about fear that I began to find paths of access to feelings that were intolerable to me then.