Archives
Posted on September 17, 2018
When you see a book you want, buy it instantly because you may never find it again.
Posted on April 16, 2018
Every book is for someone. The act of writing may be a solitary, but it is always a reach toward another person–a single person–since every book is read alone. The writer does not know for whom she writes. The reader’s face is invisible, and yet, every sentence inscribed on a page represents a bid for contact and a hope for understanding.
Posted on March 13, 2018
I meet a lot of young people now and they say I just want to get it out there. There’s a lot to be said about not getting it out there.
Posted on March 8, 2018
Writers want love, and they hope that through their work, they will be recognized as gifted. And that is why most writers are so crazy. When a writer gives his editor the pages of his manuscript, or when his book is published, his entire sense of himself is in limbo. Waiting for feedback is like waiting for the results of a biopsy.
Posted on March 7, 2018
There are moments when I positively lose heart. For whom and for what do I write?… Does the public need me or not? I cannot make it out. Write for money? But I never have money, and from the habit of it I am almost indifferent to it. For the sake of money I work poorly.
Posted on February 15, 2018
I wrote The Evenings because I was convinced I had to write it: that seems to me a good enough reason. I hoped that ten of my friends would accept a free copy, and that twenty people would buy the book out of pity and ten others by mistake.