I Voluntarily Inflicted A Certain Level Of

I Feel As If I'm Clearly Part Of A Trend Among Writers Who Take Themselves Seriously - And I Confess To Taking Myself As Seriously As The Next Writer.

I Was About 13, In Some Ways, When I Wrote The First Book. Approximately 18 When I Wrote The Second.

Life, In Her Experience, Had A Kind Of Velvet Luster. You Looked At Yourself From One Perspective And All You Saw Was Weirdness. Move Your Head A Little Bit, Though, And Everything Looked Reasonably Normal.

I Wanted All Of Her And Resented Other Boys For Wanting Any Part Of Her.

She Was So Much A Personality And So Little Anything Else That Even Staring Straight At Her He Had No Idea What She Really Looked Like.