Writing a novel is one of those modern rites of passage, I think, that lead us from an innocent world of contentment, drunkenness, and good humor, to a state of chronic edginess and the perpetual scanning of bank statements.
“Am I calm all the time? That is a question to ask my mother. I am very happy in my home. I have a good family, that gives me something extra.”
“Sometimes you have to keep things very close to your own chest in your life, or this life.”