When I wrote 'We Were The Mulvaneys,' I was just old enough to look back upon my own family life and the lies of certain individuals close to me, with the detachment of time. I wanted to tell the truth about secrets: How much pain they give, yet how much relief, even happiness we may feel when at last the motive for secrecy has passed.

Among many of my friends and acquaintances, I seem to be one of the very few individuals who felt or feels no ambivalence about my mother. All my feelings for my mother were positive, very strong and abiding.

To write a novel is to embark on a quest that is very romantic. People have visions, and the next step is to execute them. That's a very romantic project. Like Edvard Munch's strange dreamlike canvases where people are stylized, like 'The Scream.' Munch must have had that vision in a dream, he never saw it.

Stories come to us as wraiths requiring precise embodiments.

Read widely, and without apology. Read what you want to read, not what someone tells you you should read.

The body can't distinguish between cleansing and punishing for the body is ignorant, and mute besides.

Productivity is a relative matter. And it's really insignificant: What is ultimately important is a writer's strongest books.