The nonfiction novel or literary memoir as authored by women is usually given a much harder time in mainstream criticism.

I don't think men experience the embargo on channeling the autobiography in their literature.

If one writes the rules then one can contradict oneself. It's all about rhetoric, about official narratives.

My rage and sense of alienation as to how women have been written, have allowed themselves to be written, in so many ways, has political roots.

I am home because I am a writer, but sometimes, when I'm not productive (productivity: the expectations of capitalism), I feel like a terrible housewife, or a sick person.

I think the key to writing the truth of our existences, so much of this is being incubated online, is examining the conflicts and the messiness, our sometimes dividedness, dealing with gender and other hierarchies, and also our identities outside of them, deeply personal and yet somehow critical and circumspect.

I hope what I do when I draw from other people's lives is pay tribute. To try to understand what it means in our society to be silenced. To try to understand how class and gender intersect with that. To try to understand how being named and classified within the context of psychiatry can intersect with all that, as well.