My Father Is A Practicing Criminal Law

It's A Brooding Melancholy That Haunts Me.

I Write Because Something Inner And Unconscious Forces Me To. That Is The First Compulsion. The Second Is One Of Ethical And Moral Duty. I Feel Responsible To Tell Stories That Inspire Readers To Consider More Deeply Who They Are.

How Could They Say That They Truly Loved Each Other? They Had Simply Grown Up Together, Been Children Together, And The Proximity Of It, The Closeness Of It, Had Produced In Them Love S Illusion. And Yet - On The Other Hand - What Was Love If It Wasn't This Instinct She Felt.

When It Comes Time To Sit Down And Write The Next Book, You're Deathly Afraid That You're Not Up To The Task. That Was Certainly The Case With Me After Snow Falling On Cedars.

Well, I Think It’s Extraordinarily Fun To Write, And I Look Forward To It Every Day, But That Doesn’t Mean I Think It’s Easy. There’s A Difference Between The Two. It’s Fun In The Way All Worthwhile Things Are Fun – There’s Difficulty Attached To It. I Think That A Writer Has To Accept A Certain Amount Of Frustration. It’s Inherent In The Task, And You Have To Simply Persevere. It’s Part Of The Definition Of The Work.