I was very cognizant of the generation that came before me \u2014 the Vietnam generation, my parents\u2019 generation \u2014 so when I was writing \u201cDear Mr. President,\u201d I felt that the characters were in conversation with the war literature that belonged to it.<\/p>\n
Nobody was thinking about war \u2014 this was pre-9-11. There wasn\u2019t all this art. For me to even suggest that the goal was subject-worthy of cultural introspection was strange, unique. I was like an aberration. People were like, \u201cWhoa, the Gulf War. I never even think about that.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After 9-11, my conviction was that I had to keep that one imaginative space open to let the characters do whatever they want to do in the context of my narrative. At a certain point, the characters become somewhat unhinged, but they\u2019re doing so because they think they\u2019re taking a moral stance.\u00a0That moral complexity \u2014 I had never been able to articulate that kind of truth of my own experience before.<\/strong><\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n If you look at how much time I\u2019ve spent alone compared to other humans, I\u2019m in a very small percentage. You turn yourself into a strange thing.<\/p>\n It\u2019s odd because the way you\u2019re trying to make a connection with others is by being alone in a room apart from all humans.<\/strong>\u00a0You\u2019re doing it because you want to have a meaningful connection with whoever the book might bring into your life.<\/p>\n Writing a book is weird. You plant a flag in the ground that no one can see and say, \u201cThis is super important,\u201d even though nothing exists. \u201cDear Mr. President\u201d is a really weird book. Sometimes younger writers say, \u201cI didn\u2019t know that was permissible.\u201d Believe in the truth of what you\u2019re doing and stick with it when the whole world is either uninterested or doesn\u2019t believe in it.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n I picked up this little antique bookshelf that I put by my bed and I put 20 books on it. When I woke up every day, I saw that shelf and I knew the book I was working on was an amalgamation of them. It was like a compass.<\/p>\n My parents divorced when I was five, and it wasn\u2019t clean. In \u201cGork, The Teenage Dragon,\u201d the mother and father are coming to Earth on a spaceship, but they can\u2019t stop. They know they\u2019re going to crash, and the mother creates a video that\u2019s left for Gork who\u2019s currently in an egg. She says, \u201cI want you to be different.\u201d And I felt like that was an odd way where I was addressing my own wounds.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n I still wonder if the loneliness was worth it.<\/strong>\u00a0I think it was. But the loneliness that you feel, and the way that you have to be open to every single idea because it could be the thing that helps you flow into your writing. You have to let your mind settle down. You have to let your spirits settle down. You have to be alone and not be guarded in any way, and recognize that even if you feel like you\u2019re procrastinating, or you\u2019re watering the plant, you\u2019re working. You\u2019re always working.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n I have confidence in my ability to be creative and to use language in a particular way. I think everybody is afraid when they\u2019re younger. I was. But I have no fear on that playing field. I think confidence is my talent \u2014 I\u2019d put it alongside anybody\u2019s. That\u2019s the kind of feeling that every artist has to have\u2014otherwise they never make the thing.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n My dog is the greatest. She\u2019s the best thing that\u2019s happened to me. She totally takes you out of your mind. Her enthusiasm for every moment is infectious, and her delight and sense of play is instantly something that me as a human can just get lost in. So gone are the pressures of worrying about quarantine or worrying about my writing. You\u2019re one hundred percent in the moment.<\/p>\n