Words at night were feral things.

A side benefit of the new and developing technologies is that soon we won't have to feel guilty about the suffering and denigration of the animals because we will have made them up.

The story knows itself better than the writer does at some point, knows what's being said before the writer figures out how to say it.

Words at night were feral things.

I believe in guilt. There's not enough guilt around these days for my taste.

The writer trusts nothing she writes-it should be too reckless and alive for that, it should be beautiful and menacing and slightly out of control. . . . Good writing . . . explodes in the reader's face. Whenever the writer writes, it's always three or four or five o'clock in the morning in her head.

You must stop worrying about why things happen and wonder what they mean when they do.