Writers are lucky because when they're angry, the anger—by habit almost—I wouldn't say transcends but becomes an acute pressure to write, to tell.


The Paris Review, The Art of Fiction No. 131, Issue 124, Fall 1992


Writers are lucky because when they're angry, the anger—by habit almost—I wouldn't say transcends but becomes an acute pressure to write, to tell.

Writers are lucky because when they're angry, the anger—by habit almost—I wouldn't say transcends but becomes an acute pressure to write, to tell.

Writers are lucky because when they're angry, the anger—by habit almost—I wouldn't say transcends but becomes an acute pressure to write, to tell.

Writers are lucky because when they're angry, the anger—by habit almost—I wouldn't say transcends but becomes an acute pressure to write, to tell.