From what I said, it might seem like I pile up all this mental whatever and then BOOM, out pops a poem! It’s really not like that at all. I was simply speaking of the composition process, not the full process. So, yes, I go through the arc of associations, memories, thoughts, until I get to something that feels summative. That’s draft one. Then, for the rest of the existence of the poem, until it’s published or discarded, I read through it, and when I come to something that doesn’t feel right, I imagine where it could go instead. I think that’s what most people do? I do massive revisions to what I write over time. Two writers I’ve collaborated with, G.C. Waldrep and Kristina Marie Darling, both of them are much more assured with what they make than I am. Or at least, that’s how it feels to me. When we’d revise together, their revisions were much more of a honing, while mine would be dumping three quarters of the poem and putting a whole new thing in there. I hope I didn’t frustrate them too much. I know I did at least a little.

I like to write onstage. I like to say a funny thing that happened to me out loud and see if any part of it gets a laugh, then take the little moment that got the laugh and expand on it. I wish I was a more studious person. I have drawers full of notebooks filled with random sentences. In one I found a note that said, ‘wet lettuce.’ That’s it. What about it? What about wet lettuce? I know that I don’t like it, but where is the joke?!

That’s something that every writer and probably every artist needs to figure out for themselves: at what point in their process to bring other eyes in, because it can be tricky to do it too soon. I am very susceptible to other people’s perspectives. I’m a Libra, I’m a woman. If someone else has a convincing point of view, it’s really easy for me to get onboard with it, and that can be threatening to my own vision for my work. I need to wait until my work has reached a certain integrity and I know what the skeleton and the foundation and the general thrust of it is.

No, I’m never worried that I’m going to forget anything from a previous draft. It’s not that I don’t forget good things, but I think that often we fetishize what has been done to the detriment of the larger design. I think sometimes we fall in love with a paragraph, even a chapter or a character, and ultimately, those things don’t necessarily add to the book at hand. I actually see it as this beautiful process of almost whittling away. I know it seems counterintuitive, but if I do remember something and it does come into the book in the next draft and I never look at my previous draft, then it probably deserves to be there.

I have nothing else in the works. I'm spending a lot of time learning Chinese and a lot of time being with my boy who is a teenager now and wants a lot of my attention.

there is a flight leaving in 20 minutes, but there's only two first class seats left and it's going to be like $7,000." And I went, "All right, let's do it. Put us on that flight."

Sometimes you don't even need your friend to say yay or nay, you just have to hear yourself expressing it out loud to another person that's never heard it before. And I particularly like doing the out loud bit. I like my sentences to sound good.

The value of a coin toss is not seeing whether it lands on heads or tails. It’s noticing whether you are disappointed in the result or what you’re wishing for when it’s flipping

there was a year and a half after I sold my company where I felt adrift. I had a vague desire to slough off all responsibility. I had all the money now, so I had total freedom. Sold the company, I had nothing I had to do. I had nowhere I had to be.

"How to Live" feels like such a masterpiece for me that if I did nothing else with my whole life, but write that one book, it still feels like it would have been a life well lived.