I know what I write about seems exotic to a lot of people, but not for me. I pulled up to an old trading post and saw a few elderly Navajos sitting on a bench. I felt right at home.

An author knows his landscape best; he can stand around, smell the wind, get a feel for his place.

Everything is connected. The wing of the corn beetle affects the direction of the wind, the way the sand drifts, the way the light reflects into the eye of man beholding his reality. All is part of totality, and in this totality man finds his hozro, his way of walking in harmony, with beauty all around him.

A writer is like a bag lady going through life with a sack and a pointed stick collecting stuff.

The first Chapter Law is, "Don't spend much time on it. You're going to have to rewrite it."

I always have one or two, sometimes more, Navajo or other tribes' cultural elements in mind when I start a plot. In Thief of Time, I wanted to make readers aware of Navajo attitude toward the dead, respect for burial sites.

I am 82 years old. I imagine that I will keep on writing as long as anyone wants to keep reading.