We're All Entitled To Our Superstitions.

Wash The Bones, Bring The Body, Leave The Heart Behind.

When I Was Eight Years Old, I Wrote A Paragraph-long Short Story About A Goat On My Mother's Hundred-pound, Black-and-white-screen Laptop. The Story Came About Largely Because I Liked The Way The Word 'goat' Looked On The Page, But I Decided Then And There That I Wanted To Be A Writer. That Desire Never Changed.

A Family Has Its Own Rituals And Its Own Superstitions.

I Like Dark Subject Matter. I'm Not Sure What That Means About Me!

My Road To Publishing Actually Came Through A Colleague Who Connected Me To My Agent, And The Faculty At Cornell Was Very Supportive.