One of the biggest problems for beginning writers is this need to over-explain.

Some writers, notably Anton Chekov, argue that all characters must be admirable, because once we've looked at anyone deeply enough and understood their motivation we must identify with them rather than judge them.

I wonder at what point my life swerved to avoid that, and if that life would have been nicer than the one I've got.

In some ways I'm a frustrated scientist or mathematician. The amount of times I've thought I'd go back to university and do theoretical physics because I like the big questions, but really I know now that that's not quite me. What's me is to do it in novels.

What folly takes light through ether to each eye from every horizon.

I wonder if the reason I tend to say yes to everything is because I deeply believe that I can survive anything.

I'm a great believer in gathering together all your obsessions and seeing if you can make a novel out of them.