“the scene where the patient says goodbye to the doctor and she puts a flower in her hair as a kind of thank you to him – and I felt like a cowboy shot from a canyon’s top.”

You know, as I’ve grown older, my ideas about sin have changed. I used to believe that sins were things you did, but I don’t think that now. I think sins are what you ignore.

I’m interested in the limits of personality, in the possibility of change, and the saving power of art. Do powerful works of art raise our consciousness to such a degree that we refrain from sliding into moral hazard? Do we take note? Or are we doomed to repetition?

Once when I went over my work with my Washington University professor, the late great Stanley Elkin, he pointed to a passage of mine and said: Stop vamping. It has remained a caution.

Perhaps it’s simply the dual nature of marriage, the proximity of violence and love.

People think of travel, of movement, as a kind of reprieve from life. But they’re wrong. Movement isn’t a reprieve. There is no reprieve. Movement is our permanent state.

Hardcover and paperback forever. Someone carve that into a tree.

Simply put, you can read a story in a single sitting and hold it all in your mind. You can experience all of its rhythms, beginning to end, during that span. Consequently it has, I think, greater emotional power than a novel because of this real-time effect. Stories can stun you.

This is a different experience from reading a novel, I think. The emotional effect is cumulative.

By examining characters lighting the way to hell, as it were, are readers spared iniquity?

Are stories a heeded warning, or merely an entertainment? Each story in the collection tries to wrestle with these questions.

There was a long stint during my childhood after I gave up on being a pro football player – were talking sixth grade here – that I strongly considered a future writing and drawing comic books. I have been making stuff up ever since.

Let’s just hope market forces don’t send short fiction the way of the dinosaur, because their sales are paltry compared to the novel and this is truly unfortunate.

I can’t imagine turning into one of those codgers who no longer reads fiction. I’m regularly stirred by it and suffer no anxiety of influence. Influence me! That was my credo then, as I was developing and learning, and remains so now, as I’m developing and learning.

I’ll never forget reading Chekhov’s “A Doctor’s Visit” on a train to Hawthorne, New York, and I got to the end

Writers themselves don’t analyze what they do; to analyze would be to look down while crossing a canyon on a tightrope.

Illuminated by only the most feeble red light, for light is diminished to almost nothing at the center of time, its vibrations slowed to echoes in vast canyons, its intensity reduced to the faint glow of fireflies.

It doesn’t have to be the Grand Canyon, it could be a city street, it could be the face of another human being – Everything is full of wonder.