Weird Doors Open. People Fall Into Things.

I Would Be Writing And Trying To Write Like Joan Didion. Or If I Was Reading Raymond Carver. You Know, Strong Stylists. But That's How You Find Your Voice, Is Imitating Other People. So Things Like That Didn't Embarrass Me, Because I Thought, Well, That's How It Goes. That's How Everyone Learns.

My Sister's The Type Who Religiously Watches The Fear Segments Of Her Local Eyewitness News Broadcasts, Retaining Nothing But The Headline...everything Is Dangerous All Of The Time, And If It's Not Yet Been Pulled Off The Shelves, Then It's Certainly Under Investigation -- So There.

Sometimes You Read Something And It's Just -- It Doesn't Invite A Reader....sometimes You Read Something And It's Not Saying, 'oh Come In, Come In Have A Seat. I'm Going To Tell You What Happened.' Perhaps My Writing Comes Off As Conversational...and That Takes Effort.

At First, Writing For The New Yorker Was Very Scary To Me. I Couldn't Imagine Anything That I Would Write In That Typeface.

She Said, “i’m Going To Have You Fired.” I Had Two People Say That To Me Today, “i’m Going To Have You Fired.” Go Ahead, Be My Guest. I’m Wearing A Green Velvet Costume; It Doesn’t Get Any Worse Than This. Who Do These People Think They Are? I’m Going To Have You Fired!” And I Wanted To Lean Over And Say, “i’m Going To Have You Killed.