People aren't social. They're tribal. Race doesn't exist, but tribes are real.

Long-haul trucking. Just roaming the country, alone, with audiobooks and podcasts, sleeping in the back of the cab, showering at gas stations at 4 a.m., minimal human contact. That's living the dream.

It is a great moment in every freak's life when he or she finds out that at least they are not the only one.

I look white to a lot of people. And I'm not. I'm African-American. I'm mixed. I like to call myself Mulatto because that definition fits. So, you know, I've dealt with the conflict my whole life between how I look and my actual ethnic and racial identity.

My weak suit is whatever each reader hates about each book.

My strong suit is that I've been willing to risk on the page to get somewhere interesting.

I start with fear. It comes in so many forms. When I write, some of the fear goes away. So I write into the fear, and even more dissipates. I want to be scared while writing. I want to bring it to the surface so I can banish it.