. . . after I finished my first book, I was like, “I'm never writing a book again,” because that process was so miserable. But now that I've written this novel . . .
Rather than work being a place to follow your dream, or make a difference, it’s the place you work because you have to figure out a way to pay your rent.
I think it is imperative to explore the limits of the colonial narrative and its dictates because, whether we like it or not, the world that we have inherited was created by that narrative. If we have any hope of moving past it, we have to understand it fully.
Masculinity isn’t a thing. It is an absence, an excavation. Men are raised in the erase of all that is tender and good and loving until for many of us, all that is left is an unfocused rage.
Creating a site-specific installation in the middle of nowhere is somewhat akin to writing a novel—who knows if an audience will ever find their way to it.
Start at the beginning—you would think it was something I should have learned from the first novel. But I wonder about these obstacles that we put in front of ourselves that keep us from getting further along or finishing.