Author Name

It’s just a matter of writing the kind of book I enjoy reading. Something better be happening at the beginning, and then on every page after, or I get irritated.

I voluntarily inflicted a certain level of insanity on myself.

I was about 13, in some ways, when I wrote the first book. Approximately 18 when I wrote the second.

I really enjoy doing both, but I didn’t write nonfiction until 1994.

I hate that word dysfunction.

It seems to me self-evident that if you have a life, things happen in it, and certain things do change; certain things end. People you know die.

I was a late child from my parents, so I grew up surrounded by people a lot older than me. I think even when I was 21, I felt like I was a 70-year-old man.

The desire to be loved is the most important thing in the world.

I was unwise enough to actually mention this in public a few times, and in fact to point out that there were two versions of the book now. One of them had somebody else’s name on the cover, one had my name on the cover.

I look at my father, who was in many ways an unhappy person, but who, not long before he got sick, said that the greatest source of satisfaction in his life had been going to work in the company of other workers.