Nobody Would Know Me From My Own

If I Had To Summarize, Most Broadly, My Concerns As A Writer, I'd Say The Question 'how Then Must We Live?' Is At The Heart Of It, For Me.

Popular Success Is A Wonderful Gift If It Happens, But Like Money, It's Not The Motivation. The Effort To Create A Work Of Art That Is True And Potentially Lasting, That Is The Very Best Work Of Art You Can Create At That Point In Your Life - A Book That May Only Reach Or Move A Few People But Will Seem To People Somehow Transformative. That's The Ideal; That's Always The Motivation.

If You’re Reading To Find Friends, You’re In Deep Trouble. We Read To Find Life, In All Its Possibilities. The Relevant Question Isn’t ‘is This A Potential Friend For Me?’ But ‘is This Character Alive?'

There Questions Of Wanting To Be An Artist, And What Does That Mean, What Makes You An Artist? Are You An Artist If You're In A Gallery In New York And Not An Artist If You're Doing It At Home? Do You Need Legitimation To Count? If You've Been Acculturated To Believe That You Have Certain Obligations - Familial, Social, Human - If Multitasking Has Been Your Forte And That's What's Been Praised And Rewarded, Where Do You Find The Single-mindedness, The Selfishness To Do Something Like Art? I Think Those Are Questions That Arise Differently For Women And For Men.

Maybe That, Really, Is As Good A Definition As Any Of An Artist In The World: A Ruthless Person.