I don't paint anymore. I haven't since I abandoned it at 19, in order to begin writing seriously.

I work on a laptop specifically so I can work in cafes and pretend I'm part of the human world.

As much as I revere great writing, and am still humbled by it, literary activities are no longer esoteric to me. When I read a great novel - something that I could never have written myself - I'm still looking at it a little bit like a technician.

When Rolling Stone handed me this crazy assignment to be in the studio with James Brown, they had the misapprehension that I'd written for them already just because I claimed my character had.

I don't know why the world has changed so much that writers are now expected to appear in public and talk about their work. It's something I find very difficult. And yet, one does have some sense of responsibility towards one's publishers, to the people trying to sell the book.

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

I met someone who lives in an elevator.