The dump was kind of like a department store for Ray, but even more like a holy cementery where he could organize abandoned dreams and wrecked things into families, in a way, that stayed together.

at a garbage dump.

They decided that rather than just doing a document dump, they would do a garbage dump on Monday, and I think people are going to wonder about that, ... Meet the Press.

A writer is always, always searching, even against her will, against all her better instincts, for the thread of a story. Everything is fodder. Everything is fuel. You can feel it coming on like the tingling of a sore throat. The brain never stops struggling to reshape every experience and feeling into a coherent narrative.

She was becoming sad. There is no joy involved in following others' expectations of yourself.

In writing fiction, I can be free. I can use my life. The raw material is my experiences.