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There would be nights when I would wake up and couldn't get back to sleep. So I would go downstairs and write. The staff had a pool going on how many pages of typing I would bring in here in the morning.

The tough thing about writing is you go into a room alone, you close the door and you do your work.

If I went for too long without writing, I would start to feel like something inside me was dying.

I don't write about things that I have the answers to or things that are very close to home. It just wouldn't be any adventure. It wouldn't have any vitality.

I suppose I have an active imagination, and writing allows me to live it out.

I would just watch the animals, and their stories would roll out when I wrote.

Writing is like walking in a deserted street. Out of the dust in the street you make a mud pie.

So many writers grew up in tortured isolation, in revolt against their families. I and my sister were in a house where writing was considered the worthiest thing you could try to do.

I used to write in a local coffee shop, but there was another guy, another writer, who kept sitting in my favorite seat. I would show up, and he would be there, and I would get exiled to a couch or something, and it would throw me off my game.