Life is a whoopee cushion, a chair pulled away just as you were taking a seat.

But I think this: that whatever prices I've paid, whatever sorrows I shoulder, well, I have blessings, too. Not just my family now, but the others-the ones who have died...They're with me still. They're here...

I write to find out what the story means to me, that is what I try to do especially with the first draft.

I won't read novels while writing novels.

However far fiction writers stray from their own lives and experiences - and I stray pretty far from mine - I think, ultimately, that we may be writing what we need to write in some way, albeit unconsciously.

I wanted to connect a modern story with a myth that I had read.

Love comes in far more shapes and sizes than what the family-values crowd condones, of course.