Control said nothing, had said nothing for quite some time as if he didn’t trust words anymore. Or had begun to cherish the answers silence gave him.

Film fixes a precise visual image in the viewer’s head. In fiction, you just hope you’re precise enough to convey the intended effect.

Perhaps [he had] persevered for too long, in the face of too many obstacles, his hair proof of his tenacity – the stark black streaked with white or, in certain light, stark white shot through...

There’s also a lot of gritty Americana type of bands. I actually have a lot of Britpop on my iPod, too.

I looked it for shooting stars but fixed ones, and I would try to imagine what kind of life lived in those celestial tidal pools so far from us.

My mother is an artist, and I have a strong visual sense. I almost always choose the cover art for my books. I’ve learned that the more I collaborate, like by having someone do a...

I looked not for shooting stars but for fixed ones, and I would try to imagine what kind of life lived in those celestial tidal pools so far from us.

I have always tended toward a lush prose style, but I take care to modulate it from story to story and to strip it down entirely when necessary.

Be’, dipende dai soffitti alti, no? Vedi cose che non esistono. E le cose che vedi sembrano altre cose. Un uccello può essere un pipistrello. Un pipistrello può essere una busta di plastica che vola....

The music I listen to while writing is really scene-specific. It’s just a great motivator, a way to put myself in the mood.

The idea that a dysfunctional thought could take root in a vacuum, the individual anonymous and wraithlike, unknowable because, especially at first, he or she had no interaction with other people. Because more and more...

I see music as an aid. It overcomes my internal editor, especially when the music evokes the character or the mood I’m trying to build.

[W]hen you see beauty in desolation it changes something inside you. Desolation tries to colonize you.

History has shown us all too often the consequences of dreaming poorly or not at all.

My Manager forced me to put my beetle in my own ear, a clear waste and an act that gave me nightmares: of a burning city through which giant carnivorous lizards prowled, eating survivors off...

I always try to be alert to the potential for repetition, for a decaying orbit with regard to my use of technique, etc.

That’s how the madness of the world tries to colonize you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality.

I do believe very much in the idea of unexpected or ‘convulsive’ beauty – beauty in the service of liberty.

But what if you discover that the price of purpose is to render invisible so many other things?

So many differing opinions and philosophies… are rarely housed under the roof of a single magazine.