I just noticed recently that in one book after another I seem to find an excuse to find some character who, to put it idiotically simply, is allowed to talk crazy.

Every book is a kind of experiment in doing something that feels impossible.

I don't have a lot of paper in my immediate work environment, except when I'm doing things like checking the godforsaken proofs.

I'm not planning what I listen to, except when I think the music can guide me to some emotional place I want to be reminded of.

A reader, encountering a sentence about a barking dog, would have to dwell on why that choice was made at that moment. Everything in a novel is explicitly chosen, whereas some of what a film captures feels incidental, according to the vagaries of photography and sound recording.

Apologies aren't something you want to get in the habit of practicing in the mirror

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