"But form is best for me when it’s the most invisible, and the single-stanza whoosh is somehow both almost-invisible in its proximity to prose as well as it is hyper-visible in its looking like a brick wall."
"If anything, the American Dream in this story is as elusive for me, my grandmother, and Catherine as it was for Gatsby. You never reach it, or never feel yourself to have reached it. It only exists as a possibility, not really as a clean and finished fact.
In the face of such real and seemingly insurmountable financial barriers to do so, literary magazines—and I mean all of them, at least those who have been around for more than a year—can and should pay their contributing writers for their work.
Once, as we passed Sauk Centre on a rare family outing, my father said to me, "You know that Sinclair Lewis got run out of town for his books. Maybe someday you'll write a book that gets you run out of town."
"As far as range and scope are concerned, those things are in constant focus in the West, where you can spot a snowstorm moving in from miles away, and the Rocky Mountains loom large on dark mornings as I walk my kids to school."
"In this essay, my limited understanding of the internet means that Google becomes the mystical made prosaic. I don’t understand Google, and maybe I fear it, but the search engine is like an external self or a communal self without a body."
"I think as a society, we're always trying to be useful, to be helpful, but so often, our loved ones — in whatever ways they are suffering — just want to know they're not alone. True presence is courageous."