There's not some finite amount of pain inside us. Our bodies and minds just keep manufacturing more of it.

Maybe that's what we look for in the people we love, the spark of unhappiness we think we know how to extinguish.

Apparently even the most awful tragedies, and the people they'd ruined, got a little stale after a while.

My mythic version of America is very much about parents and children, and in my experience, the suburban setting is where that particular drama plays out. Which isn't to say that there aren't parents and children in cities or on farms. I just don't know them.

It just so happened that for most of my life I've lived in the suburbs.

It felt good, the whole family together on a sunny morning in a wholesome environment. If it hadn't been for the warshiping God part, he would have happily attended church on a regular basis.

I know very few writers who outline fully before they start. It just doesn't seem possible to do, because so many things don't come out until you're absolutely knee-deep in the world.