If you write something you’re afraid someone will read, you’re probably going in a good direction.
Stories don’t start with a meaning. [The writer] starts with observations, questions, fascinations, places, memories . . . Only later, at some point in the revision process, do you start to figure out what the story’s about.
Language makes sense and it’s musical, so it combines reason and passion.
Place needs its witnesses, people who can see it and say: This is what it was like for me. You—in this time and place—will never be repeated, and that’s worth writing about.