I Know Very Few Writers Who Outline

There's Not Some Finite Amount Of Pain Inside Us. Our Bodies And Minds Just Keep Manufacturing More Of It.

It's Not The Cheating. It's The Hunger For An Alternative. The Refusal To Accept Unhappiness.

I Was Writing Very Early, Like I Was Involved In Our High School Literary Magazine, Which Was Called 'pariah.' The Football Team Was The Bears, And The Literary Magazine Was 'pariah.' It Was Great. It Was Definitely A Real Sub-culture. But I Wrote Stories For Them.

I Was An English Major In College, I Went To A Creative-writing Program, And All My Life, I Really Read And Thought About Fiction As A Craft And An Art Form. I Feel Like I Know A Lot About It, And Can Trust My Instincts.

He'd Never Had To Make The Adjustments And Compromises Other People Accepted Early In Their Romantic Careers; Never Had A Chance To Learn The Lesson That Sarah Taught Him Everyday--that Beauty Was Only A Part Of It, And Not Even The Most Important Part, That There Were Transactions Between People That Occurred On Some Mysterious Level Beneath The Skin, Or Maybe Even Beyond The Body.