I can feel a phoenix inside of me. I can see the heavens but I still hear the flames calling out my name.
That's writing for you: when you make space for passion, it doesn't turn up.
The 'good' mother, with her fixed smile, her rigidity, her goody-goody outlook, her obsession with unnecessary hygiene, is in fact a fool. It is the 'bad' mother, unafraid of a joke and a glass of wine, richly self-expressive, scornful of suburban values, who is, in reality, good.
As writers go, I have a skin of average thickness. I am pleased by a good review, disappointed by a bad. None of it penetrates far enough to influence the thing I write next.
As it stands, motherhood is a sort of wilderness through which each woman hacks her way, part martyr, part pioneer; a turn of events from which some women derive feelings of heroism, while others experience a sense of exile from the world they knew.
I have absolutely no concept of work, except for university. But I like to talk to people a lot about their jobs.
How can there be so many mothers in the world but so little sense of what it might be to become one?
When I was researching my very first novel, "The Basic Eight," I was calling right-wing political and religious organizations and asking them to mail me their material so that I could mock them in my novels.
While one person hesitates because he feels inferior, the other is busy making mistakes and becoming superior.
The translation called good has original value as a work of art.
I like singing in harmony - I like not having to sing every song.