I’m not one these self-centred, genius, driven characters who wake up and… I’m more like a slug, I’m more like a very slow, easy creature. I really don’t want to do anything. I wake up in the morning and just want to lie in bed three or four more hours. There’s nothing I want to do. In fact, even going to the typewriter… as I walk toward it I realize I must be a writer because I made money at it… I don’t even like the look of the typewriter. Sometimes I stay away from it for days because it seems like jobs I used to have. The minute I sit down to the damn thing and have half a bottle of wine, things start coming and the words starts popping up, you know like popcorn kernels, pop pop pop. So for me there’s no egocentric… I’m not doing it, something’s doing it to me. I walk into it and here’s the gift.