When I hit a block, regardless of what I am writing, what the subject matter is, or what's going on in the plot, I go back and I read Pablo Neruda's poetry. I don't actually speak Spanish, so I read it translation. But I always go back to Neruda. I don't know why, but it calms me, calms my brain.

The dead are celebrated. The dead are loved. They give something to the living. Once you put something into the ground, Doctor, you always know where to find it.

At the end of the day, it's about the reader's attachment to and belief in the magical elements that make or break magical realism.

In the mess of moving from place to place, I skipped two grades in the space of one year.

Being taken seriously, for a young writer, is a wonderful form of encouragement, but at the same time, I don't think one should ever feel like attempting a kind of artistic endeavor is beyond your scope just because of age or inexperience.

When you're in a place, the details you focus on are different than details you focus on when you're writing about it.

I am very interested in place, and the influences of place on characters.