Maybe Love, Like Suffering, Is Relative.

I Also Have Just My Own Limits About Stuff. I'm Not Interested In Writing Graphically About Sexual Assault For Example. I Feel Like The Stuff That I'm Fascinated By Is The Stuff That's Part Of The Public Imagination Of What Horror Is. The Bleakness Is A Different Issue. I Think That Just Stems From My Personality. I Wish That I Offered A Little More Glimmer Of Hope Sometimes.

There Is A Stage You Reach, Deagle Thinks, A Time Somewhere In Early Middle Age, When Your Past Ceases To Be About Yourself. Your Connection To Your Former Life Is Like A Dream Or Delirium, And That Person Who You Once Were Is Merely A Fond Acquaintance, Or A Beloved Character From A Storybook. This Is How Memory Becomes Nostalgia. They Are Two Very Different Things - The Same Way That A Person Is Different From A Photograph Of A Person.

The Earliest Impetuses For Writing, For Me, Were Simply The Strange Things I Happened To Notice In My Everyday Life, Stuff I Read About In The Grocery Store Tabloids My Mom Bought, Situations That Struck Me As Compelling, Anecdotes I'd Heard, Images, Words, Metaphors.

Imaginative Empathy Is One Of The Great Gifts That Humans Have, And It Means That We Can Live More Than One Life. We Can Picture What It Would Be Like From Another Perspective.

I Think We're Always In Some Ways Writing To The Teachers Who Gave Us Early Love.