There's something uniquely exhilarating about puzzling together the truth at the hands of an unreliable narrator.

'Where'd You Go, Bernadette' is an epistolary novel - one told in letters. I had no idea how much fun it would be, puzzling together the plot with letters and documents.

I don't mind finding these ugly sides to my personality and exaggerating them because that's something you can write towards.

There's something uniquely aggravating about the smugness of liberal Hollywood.

I found it hard to write the bits where the things that were at first surprising or even shocking became normal incrementally until I couldn't see that they were anything but normal, because everything else had shifted just one centimetre here and one centimetre there, moving at the speed fingernails grow, until finally everything just clicked into exactly the wrong place.

When I draw something, the brain and the hands work together.