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I realised those things my ego needed - fame and success - were going to make me terribly unhappy. So I wrenched myself away from that. I had to. I had to walk away from America and say goodbye to the biggest part of my career because I knew, otherwise, my demons would get the better of me.

I ran away from home. I ran away from St. Louis, and then I ran away from the United States of America, because of that terror of discrimination, that horrible beast which paralyzes one's very soul and body.

I gave up school. I gave up a really, really good job. I gave up a lot of stuff. I cut a lot of people out of my life so I could just focus on my fighting dreams.

I quit my job, and went ashore to become a writer.

I had to get out of America to get a professional life going where I could actually make a living.

I guess I wanted to leave America for awhile. It wasn't that I wanted to become an expatriate, or just never come back, I needed some breathing room. I'd already been translating French poetry, I'd been to Paris once before and liked it very much, and so I just went.

I dropped out of school; I got fired from my job. Those were my roughest moments, but I always knew through it that I was going to be great.

When I went to America, I spoke so much about who I was and gave so much away in a confessional, Irish, story-telling way that I suddenly realised I had given up a lot of myself. I had to shut up.

What upset me the most was not that I would die, but that I was letting down my parents. I felt very guilty for chasing this dream career of mine, at the expense of my parents.

Working in Washington, trying to make a difference, that was a very meaningful time for me, a period of personal growth.