I calmed myself by walking into my nearby bookstore and marveling at all the books other people had written. So many people had finished and published novels; it couldn’t be so hard, right?
A white girl disappears from a white prep school in a white suburb. Nobody knows what happened to her. The overall whiteness of the world is threatened. This must be resolved by whatever means possible.
I am simply looking for a companion with whom to spend my days, a companion who will cherish as much as I the stupidity of living in the moment, and spend every dull, amazing second with me.
To believe you’re being psychically attacked gives you an understanding of your illness that no Western doctor can provide; this can be reassuring when you’ve exhausted the Western doctor tool kit, and the doctors are sending you to acupuncturists for pain relief.
The twisty nature of psychic attack – are you being attacked, or did you bring this attack on yourself? – speaks to me of an American cultural paradox we all grapple with. There’s the rampant litigiousness of our society, and the desire to blame others for our misfortunes.
I needed to understand this random bad bit of luck as part of a bigger design. Otherwise I was suffering meaninglessly. This made the suffering a lot worse.
I really did for a few weeks think, I’m in pain because the world needs me to save it. Which is so ridiculous and egotistical.
I think what can be most shameful or embarrassing is when our bodies broadcast a secret we’d prefer no one to know. This is why I hate rashes, in particular face rashes.
I developed a crazy face rash after I got engaged to a guy I must have known somewhere I should not marry. I hadn’t articulated this to myself, so my face told the world instead.
Whether I’m writing about plumbers or psychics or psychic plumbers, I want to find a creative space that imprisons me usefully, so I can deviate with purpose.
As such, anything is always possible, even if your protagonist is a plumber. But it’s the possibility, the limitless possibilities, of any fake life, that make writing about it so challenging.
I don’t think fake people living in a fake house in a fake suburb are any less dismissible or believable than a fake psychic attending a fake school in a fake town. Nothing’s inherently believable about any kind of fiction, because all of it’s untrue.
Structure is, for me, the most fun challenge about writing novels.
I wouldn’t be myself if I weren’t always trying to be someone else. I only have so much time on this earth and I want to be as many people as possible.
I don’t think women are, by definition, toxic to one another. I think women are simultaneously competitive toward and idolatrous of each other. I thrive on that challenge and that desire.
The belief that one’s suffering has a greater cosmic purpose, and is thus more exciting and more noble, well, it made a lot of sense to me.
I go through life now reminding myself to remember something, and I do this while that something is happening. I’ll be experiencing a moment and I’ll say to myself, “Remember this!” Otherwise my whole life just blurs by.
No matter what you wear, not everyone is going to understand what you’re saying.
Sometimes it can be useful to read your bad reviews.
My husband is always accusing me of being a context-free individual. He asks something and he has no idea where it came from or what it related to. I have to supply him with way more supplementary information than I ever have to supply my female friends.