You don't look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away.

In Paradise there are no stories, because there are no journeys.

I'm not an activist by nature. I am suspicious of Utopian thinking and equally suspicious of its alternate.

The future of narrative? Built in, part of the human template. Not going away. The future of the codex book, with pages and so forth? A platform for transmitting narratives. There are others. The scroll is coming back (Twitter is a scroll.) Short forms are returning online. Interactivity is coming back; it was always there in oral storytelling. Each form has its pluses and its minuses.

How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.

Where do the words go when we have said them?

Time has not stood still. It has washed over me, washed me away, as if I'm nothing more than a woman of sand, left by a careless child too near the water.