I once broke up with a boy because he wrote me an awful poem.

Everything is all right,
When you’re here,
When you’re right next to me,
When my hand is in yours,
Don’t leave me,
Don’t leave me empty handed.

Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness.

Language does this to our memories—simplifies, solidifies, codifies, mummifies. An oft-told story is like a photograph in a family album; eventually, it replaces the moment it was meant to capture.

I have always been a generous and enthusiastic reader.

I was pretty happy with how my career had gone, mainly because of the enormous freedom I've had to write what I've wanted to write. I had a very clear picture of who I was as a writer.