Enjoy the stories, admire the craft. Then put it in your backpack and go. As far as you can, for as long as you can afford it. Preferably someplace where you have to think in one language and buy groceries in another. Get a job there. Rent a room. Stick around. Do something. If it doesn’t work out, do something else. Whatever it is, you will be able to use it in the stories you will write later. And if that story turns out to be about grungy sex in an East Coast dorm room with an emotionally withholding semiotics major, that’s okay. It will be a better story for the fact that you have been somewhere and carried part of it home with you in your soul.
—Geraldine Brooks, 2011
Overnight, the World Wide Web weaves tightly around you. A novelty at first, then invaluable, then life support, then heroin.
—Richard Powers, 2010
Where were you thinking when you were not smoking that cigarette or not drinking that warm beer in a bottle? How briefly or calmly did you see the flashbacks of floating tree trunks (fully swimming in the sea two streets away)? When (or is it more appropriate to ask what) was the taste of water in a three-month electricity-free light-deprived self-sustaining Pacific-facing province? Why is there this now and will the now this be the future? Who will you be in the previous years?