Writing Is Physical For Me. I Always

Yet I'm Making A Book And I'm Going To Care Immensely About What Words Get Bound In The Pages, And I Want The Object To Look Good. I Won't Believe In It And It Won't Be Real To Me Until There's A Finished Book I Can Hold.

I Want To Write Books That Can Be Read A Hundred Years From Now, And Readers Wouldn't Be Bogged Down By Irrelevant Details.

I Keep One Simple Rule That I Only Move In One Direction - I Write The Book Straight Through From Beginning To End. By Following Time's Arrow I Keep Myself Sane.

The Past Is Still Visible. The Buildings Haven't Changed, The Layout Of The Streets Hasn't Changed. So Memory Is Very Available To Me As I Walk Around.

How Often Had That Hydrant Even Been Opened? Did You Jet Water Through A Car Window, What, Twice At Best? Summer Burned Just A Few Afternoons Long, In The End. As For Flying, Dose Never Even Glanced At The Sky. Flying Was A Summer Within A Summer, A Whim. So Why Think Of It At All?