[T]he normal and the everyday are often amazingly unstoppable, and what is unimaginable is the cessation of them. The world is resilient, and, no matter what interruptions occur, people so badly want to return to their lives and get on with them. A veneer of civilization descends quickly, like a shining rain. Dust is settled.

You know, I'm just a very boring, not very funny person in person. I don't feel pressured to be otherwise.

I do have people in mind when I write. I don't know precisely who they are, however, or how many of them there are.

Those are the love killers. They love you and then they kill you. They're from another planet. Supposedly.

If you look at most womens writing, women writers will describe women differently from the way male writers describe women. The details that go into a woman writers description of a female character are, perhaps, a little more judgmental. Theyre looking for certain things, because they know what women do to look a certain way.

An author's life is different, complex, and ongoing, while a character's remains frozen in one little story.

Surrealism could not be made up. It was the very electricity of the real.