I Prefer A Cluttered Workspace.

When A Colleague Of Mine Had A Notable New York Times Book, I Said, Turn One Of The Chapters In The Collection Into A Pitch For A Novel And Sell It To Your Publisher.

My Childhood Was Marked By The Great Fear Of Nuclear Holocaust. We Practiced Our Civil Defense Drills, Lining Up In Hallways, Curled To The Floor, But We Knew We'd Die Or, Worse, Survive Only To Suffer Radiation And Slow Death.

If I'd Learned Nothing Else, It Was This: If You Want To Be A Great Writer, Be A Man. If You Can't Be A Man, Write Like One.

But There It Is: Everyone Is Alone, For Life, And Maybe That's Not Such A Bad Thing.

I Always Think I Know The Way A Novel Will Go. I Write Maps On Oversized Art Pads Like The Kind I Carried Around In College When I Was Earnest About Drawing. I Need To Have Some Idea Of The Shape Of The Novel, Where Its Headed, So That I Can Proceed With Confidence. But The Truth Is My Characters Start Doing And Saying Things I Don't Expect.