I Plan Less And Less.

I Work On A Laptop Specifically So I Can Work In Cafes And Pretend I'm Part Of The Human World.

I'm Gregarious With Writers And Never With Manuscripts . . . I [like To] Create The Illusion Of Seamless Perfection, So I Alone Know The Flawed Homely Process Along The Way.

I Hate Libraries For The Way They Put Stickers On Things. I Don't Approve Of Folding Over Pages, Or Of Writing In Books. God, Forget Scissors - That's Beyond The Pale.

Context Is Everything. Dress Me Up And See. I'm A Carnival Barker, An Auctioneer, A Downtown Performance Artist, A Speaker In Tongues, A Senator Drunk On Filibuster. I've Got Tourette's. My Mouth Won't Quit, Though Mostly I Whisper Or Subvocalize Like I'm Reading Aloud, My Adam's Apple Bobbing, Jaw Muscle Beating Like A Miniature Heart Under My Cheek, The Noise Suppressed, The Words Escaping Silently, Mere Ghosts Of Themselves, Husks Of Empty Breath And Tone.

I Tend To Think Of Myself As A Highly Emotional Writer. It's All Coming Out Of The Deepest Feelings, Out Of Dreams, Out Of The Unconscious.