When I was a child, my favorite joke was: "Q: How do you sculpt an elephant? A: Take big piece of marble and carve away everything that doesn't look like an elephant." I'm still laughing at this one, cause that's how writing feels, except there's no stone, and you've never seen an elephant.

I like a story that can be told over a fire, all of its necessary waves striking the piece of beach you can keep in sight. One where I have to go into the night wondering how the survivors moved on with what happened. 

I’m definitely a chipper. I like the idea that the most perfect form of the story already exists inside a writer, and it’s her daily work to crack it open, shard by shard.

I’d like to spend a few hours in a Gogol story—but also have a way to get out when I need to—like when the giant Nose is approaching.

I was a bartender for the last five years. People tend to think that’s pretty interesting, but after a while it just gets depressing.

Sameer Pandya’s story “M-O-T-H-E-R” follows an Indian-American family in California whose mother, Uma, has high ambitions for her teenage sons in their spelling bee competitions.

“The Insurrection Act of 1807 was enacted in silence. It has no legislative history.”

"I don't write for critics and reviewers, nor do I cater to a wider audience (by which one usually means a white audience). My work is always addressed to a very small audience: Sri Lankan readers reading in English."

Why do you write? No one ever asks me this but I repeat this every morning while taking a walk in my neighborhood. I write to save nature and reduce animal suffering.