There's literary creation and literary business. When I first got something accepted, it gave my life a validation it didn't otherwise have.

In short, everything about his life was different for him at the bottom of that well.

Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it.

I guess my writing has changed as my life has.

What good are insights? They only make things worse.

A man without hands came to the door to sell me a photograph of my house. Except for the chrome hooks, he was an ordinary-looking man of fifty or so.

She won't give him back his look.