You Want To Give Him The Book

He's One Of Those Smart, Drifty Young People Who, After Certain Deliberations, Decides He Wants To Do Something In The Arts But Won't, Possibly Can't, Think In Terms Of An Actual Job; Who Seems To Imagine That Youth And Brains And Willingness Will Simply Summon An Occupation, The Precise And Perfect Nature Of Which Will Reveal Itself In Its Own Time.

What I Wanted To Do Seemed Simple. I Wanted Something Alive And Shocking Enough That It Could Be A Morning In Somebody's Life. The Most Ordinary Morning. Imagine, Trying To Do That.

You Can't Find Peace By Avoiding Life.

I Just Don't Feel Much Interested In The Lifestyles Of The Rich And Famous.

Language In Fiction Is Made Up Of Equal Parts Meaning And Music. The Sentences Should Have Rhythm And Cadence, They Should Engage And Delight The Inner Ear.