Sometimes you just work, you work, you work, and you have no life, no boyfriend, you have no more friends, no more nothing, you just make movies, and you're tired, and you don't know why. Then everybody says, 'Oh you are so lucky, you are working!' And you're like, 'Oh yeah, oh yeah, it's so great!'
I just sort of write the book I feel like writing given the emotional place I am in my life at the time.
There is a strong tendency in explanatory prose to invoke quantities of tension, energy, and whatnot to explain the genesis of pattern. I believe that all such explanations are inappropriate or wrong.