...the Plural Of Elf Is Elves! What

Lonely People Are Always Up In The Middle Of The Night.

The Clarity Was Startling And Samson Wondered Whether He Was Imagining These Moments. Not That They Hadn't Happened At All, But That They Had Been Embellished By Details From Elsewhere, Fragments That Survived The Obliteration Of Other Memories, Vagrant Data That Gravitated And Stuck To What Was Left To Remember. But In The End He Rejected This Idea. The Memories Were Too Perfect: Take One Detail Away And They Collapsed Into Disorder.

Getting A Book Published Made Me Feel A Little Bit Sad... I Felt Driven By The Need To Write A Book, Rather Than The Need To Write. I Needed To Figure Out What Was Important To Me As A Writer.

I Think Of Novels As Houses. You Live In Them Over The Course Of A Long Period, Both As A Reader And As A Writer.

An Average Of Seventy-four Species Become Extinct Every Day, Which Was One Good Reason But Not The Only One To Hold Someone's Hand.