If the book is a mystery to its author as she's writing, inevitably it's going to be a mystery to the reader as he or she reads it.

For me, the most powerful way to write about something is through the absence of it. Rather than writing about what it was to become a new mother, I wrote, for example, a father facing death and addressing his estranged son about the regrets of his relationship.

Once upon a time you were a fish. How do you know? Because I was also a fish. You, too? Sure. A long time ago. Anyway, being a fish, you knew how to swim. You were a great swimmer. A champion swimmer, you were. You loved the water. Why? What do you mean, why? Why did I love the water? Because it was your life! And as we talked, I would have let him go one finger at a time, until, without his realizing, he'd be floating without me. Perhaps that is what it means to be a father-to teach your child to live without you.

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

I have realised just how important it is to readers to feel that fictional stories are based on reality.

Part of me is made of glass, and also, I love you.

I've reached the age where bruises are formed from failures within rather than accidents without.