Perhaps we are on an insula ex machina, an artificial place not in the real world at all -- a backdrop for the stories we must tell.

It's been said that the men in my books have been absent, or weak, or creepy.

In the end, it is my belief, words are the only things that can construct a world that makes sense.

The great thing about writing compared to life is getting to tie things up.

The past is what you take with you.

What if we had a chance to do it again and again, until we finally did get it right? Wouldn't that be wonderful?

Ethics are not necessarily to do with being law-abiding. I am very interested in the moral path, doing the right thing.