October 31, 2017

One morning a few weeks ago, I woke up alone, locked in a motel room near Rutland, Vermont. It sounds more sinister than it was; my imprisonment was self-imposed. I could not leave until I'd finished a draft of a novel I'd been working on for a long time. 

Once or twice a year, for two or three nights, I lock myself in a motel or hotel room somewhere and . . . write. Most importantly though, I think -- in long uninterrupted streams of conscio...

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