By The Time I Was Writing The

Just A Small-scale Cult Of Personality, Maybe Raise A Geodetic Dome Out In Western Massachusetts And Make People Wear Jumpsuits And Give All Their Possessions To Me.

As A Freelance Writer, I'd Be Asked To Become An Expert For Various Magazines On Any Subject, Whether Food Or Wine Or History Or The Life Span Of Veterinarians. I Was Completely Unschooled In Any Of These Things.

I Am Not Beautiful, So I Don't Know Why I'm Making Myself Ugly. But The Mustache Stays.

Writing For Me Always Requires Trickery. Tricking Myself Into Sitting Down, Letting Words Tumble Out Until You Find The Good Ones. It's Sort Of A Trance. And When A Piece Is Done, I Have Little Memory Of How I Wrote It, And Zero Confidence I'd Ever Be Able To Do It Again.

It's Not A Secret Family Like I Have A Beautiful, Gorgeous Wife In Tokyo; I Have Another Mom And Dad. I'm The Kid And I Have Another Mom And Dad In Atwater Village, Los Angeles.