Wasn't the whole point of being an artist, or at least part of it, that you didn't have to wear a tie?

I always thought it was the saddest and most devastating ending. How you could have these enormous dreams that never get met. How without knowing it you could just make yourself smaller over time. I don't want that to happen to me.

Both my mother and I have close groups of friends that include other writers, and these friendships are very important to us.

Good writing is good writing, and I'm so happy when I read it.

New teachers were just a part of life, for a few days after one arrived, squawks of interest were emitted from various corners, but then they died away as the teacher was absorbed like everyone else...before you knew it, the fresh ones seemed to have been teaching there forever too, or else they didn't last very long, and were gone before you'd gotten to know them.

For me, a novel relying too heavily on a single idea might be a dry, deadly thing unless it possesses an animating force.

The minute you had kids you closed ranks. You didn't plan this in advance, but it happened. Families were like individual, discrete, moated island nations. The little group of citizens on the slab of rock gathered together instinctively, almost defensively, and everyone who was outside the walls—even if you'd once been best friends—was now just that, outsiders.