I think of novels as houses. You live in them over the course of a long period, both as a reader and as a writer.

What about you? Are you happiest and saddest right now that you've ever been?" "Of course I am." "Why?" "Because nothing makes me happier and nothing makes me sadder than you.

No, what I felt was the torment of waiting, stuck between the end of one sentence and the beginning of the next which might or might not bring a hail storm, plane crash, poetic justice, or a miraculous reversal.

... as a rule of thumb, whenever there appears a plural, correct for a singular. Should I ever let slip a royal WE, put me out of my misery with a swift blow to the head.

Because you can get free of everything except the space where things have been

...The plural of elf is elves! What a language! What a world!

It is impossible to distrust one's writing without awakening a deeper distrust in oneself.