I always figure there are novels and short stories, and in those, I'm God. No one tells me what to do. I don't have to lose a page, or cut anything, it's just mine. Then there are other things where you're up against realities.

Anywhere that I can't check my email is a good place to write!

I was bright, and I could use that as a weapon: words can wound, whatever those sticks and stones sayings claim about them never hurting, and I could use them if I had to.

I'd love to think that people in the future would gather in theatres, at conventions, and in darkened rooms, and read it out to each other.

Death’s a funny thing. I used to think it was a big, sudden thing, like a huge owl that would swoop down out of the night and carry you off. I don’t anymore. I think it’s a slow thing. Like a thief who comes to your house day after day, taking a little thing here and a little thing there, and one day you walk round your house and there’s nothing there to keep you, nothing to make you want to stay. And then you lie down and shut up forever. Lots of little deaths until the last big one.

A novel seemed the easiest way to get what I had had in my head into the inside of other people's heads. Books are good that way.

And because nobody's done it before, they haven't made up rules to stop anyone doing that again, yet.