I Guess I Find The Boundaries Between

I Can't Envision An Honest War Novel That Left War In A Positive Light.

The World Makes Liars Of Us All.

I Wanted Something That I Could Look Back On And Say, Yes, You Were Fighting Too, You Burned To Be Alive, And Whatever Failure Or Accident Of Nature Caused You To Be Killed Could Be Explained By Something Other Than The Fact That I'd Missed Your Giving Up.

I Know That The Writers I Read And Admire All Have An Influence On My Work, But Trying To Determine To What Degree Any Particular Piece Of Input Changes The Way I Think About Writing Seems Counterproductive.

I've Been Writing Poems And Stories Since I Was About 13.