There are a couple of poems I've written with masculine muses, very often the muse to me is a female.

Just because suddenly you have a sabbatical doesn't mean that the writing occasion comes to you.

In some ways it is absurd for me to assert, counter to evidence, that I have not been writing.

I feel compassionate, because I know [students] all have to go down this road of suffering and it's going to be tough.

It's as if I'm setting aside the husband and son, you know, the patriarchal world, for the world of the muse. This is the world of writing.

What happens when a female writer invokes a female muse? Does something else happen? With Sappho's figures of desire, we have a different lesbian energy.

I was driven, as have been many writers, both by a repulsion of the childhood home's narrow confines and a desire to reach further, to keep desiring more of a future not yet imagined and not yet written down.