A. Never cook naked.
A. Impatience. Move on.
A. Writing--which means I'm happy a lot. Perfect? I don't know. But happy as in contented? You bet. I don't understand the Hollywood myth about the tortured writer. When I get a cup of tea and sit down at my desk, looking out at the New England woods beyond but also facing that blank screen on my computer, I'm as happy as I ever am. It also doesn't hurt to have a collie sleeping nearby. Or the person you love making lunch in the kitchen.
A. Paris for buzz, maybe Telluride for peace. Or Santa Fe. Oh, and Prince Edward Island. In the summer.
A. I talk about books. I lead a book group at the local library and teach literature courses. Oh, and I play the piano. Ravel, mostly. And Bach.