I'm Not Very Happy Idle.

Sometimes The Loudest Cries For Help Are Silent.

What I Want To Do Is Tell Stories About Normal People In The American Suburbs. I Don't Write The Book Where It's A Conspiracy Reaching The Prime Minister; I Don't Write The Book With The Big Serial Killer Who Lops Off Heads. My Setting Is A Very Placid Pool Of Suburbia, Family Life. And Within That I Can Make Pretty Big Splashes.

I'm Thinking Of Taking Up Golf, But The Idea Of Spending Time With Golfers Frightens Me.

Being A Parent Is Not For The Faint Of Heart. I May Joke About Knowing Fear, But The Fact Is, The First Time I Ever Knew Real Fear Was The Day Charlotte, My First Child, Was Born. Suddenly There Is Someone In The World You Care About More Than Anything.

No, I Don’t Live In Heartache. I Don’t Cry Myself To Sleep Or Any Of That. I Am, I Tell Myself, Over It. But I Do Feel A Void, Icky As That Sounds. And—like It Or Not—i Still Think About Her Every Single Day.