There Was No One To Call Me

Sometimes, Waking Early Before The Others, Wandering The Rooms Wrapped In A Blanket Or Drinking My Tea In The Empty Kitchen, I Had That Most Rare Of Feelings, The Sense That The World, So Consistently Overwhelming And Incomprehensible, In Fact Has An Order, Oblique As It May Seem, And I A Place Within It.

I Wished To Punish Her For Her Intolerable Stoicism, Which Made It Impossible For Me To Ever Be Truly Needed By Her In The Most Profound Ways A Person Can Need Another, A Need That Often Goes By The Name Of Love.

I Have Always Written About Characters Who Fall Somewhere In The Spectrum Between Solitary And Totally Alienated.

I Knew That To Find And To Feel Yoav Again Would Be Terribly Painful, Because Of What Had Become Of Him, And Because Of What I Knew He Could Ignite In Me, A Vitality That Was Excruciating Because Like A Flare It Lit Up The Emptiness Inside Me And Exposed What I Always Secretly Knew About Myself: How Much Time I'd Spent Being Only Partly Alive, And How Easily I'd Accepted A Lesser Life.

Getting A Book Published Made Me Feel A Little Bit Sad... I Felt Driven By The Need To Write A Book, Rather Than The Need To Write. I Needed To Figure Out What Was Important To Me As A Writer.