I’m not very good at picking favorites, but one pivotal scene is when Chic reluctantly reveals to Claire how her brother died. In doing this he is risking everything, an act of unselfishness that contradicts his image of himself and illuminates his true character.
Sam was a constant challenge and I spent a lot of time revising, rewriting, and snacking. He is unhinged because of the traumatic event he’s blocked out, and yet he is in some ways very grounded, keenly aware of the world around him. Balancing these two competing aspects was like trying to bicycle on an oil slick after six drinks.
James Salter’s ALL THAT IS, Jim Sheperd’s THE WORLD TO COME, Grace Paley’s THE COLLECTED STORIES, and A LOT OF DUST.
Describing what I do as a process is like calling a Trump speech poetry. Or cogent, for that matter. I get out of bed as late as possible, search for distractions—riding my bike, paddling my surf ski, picking lint off my eyebrows—and eventually make my way to my desk, where I search for other distractions—Facebook, email, rearranging my pretzel crumbs, etc. On my best days, there comes a point when it dawns on me yet again that I may not be immortal and I can no longer abide the odor of my own infecundity. I honestly don’t know how I finish anything. In fact I may not even finish th
I’m driven more by desperation than inspiration, but when inspiration finds me it is most often triggered by the awareness of the power of art to touch hearts and expand minds, to enrich lives and to pose questions and illuminate overarching truths regarding the human condition. I want and/or need to be a part of that.