To Deny That There Was This Dark

The Real Question Is: How Do You React? What Do You Do Next? Evade Responsibilities? Bury Yourself In Work? What Do You Do? All Three Of My Novels Take Up That Question, Although None Gives An Answer.

I Grew Up In Seattle, But I Always Knew I Wanted To Leave.

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.

Cities Produce In Me Melancholy Or A Tension I Don't Need.

To Deny That There Was This Dark Side Of Life Would Be Like Pretending That The Cold Of Winter Was Somehow Only A Temporary Illusion, A Way Station On The Way To The Higher "reality" Of Long, Warm, Pleasant Summers. But Summer, It Turned Out, Was No More Real Than The Snow That Melted In Wintertime.