A. I was (and am) a painter.
A. Harrow School, then Cambridge.
A. I'm serially monogamous. Currently, Jenny Lewis.
A. Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip.
A. Running off in all directions at once.
A. It's hours before midnight that count.
A. Being in love and able to sleep, and having come down from an early evening shower, hair combed and a fresh shirt on (extra starch), warm air blowing off the sea, and someone putting a pre-dinner drink in my hand, ice clinking. In other words, a Zara poster.
A. Overhead lighting.
A. Home (home is a person, of course, not a place).
A. The mob.
A. Thomas Pynchon's pretty special.
A. Aging. Or, as we say in England, ageing.
A. Standing backflip.
A. Falling in love.
A. Being evasive.
A. Think I'm honor-bound to say myself, no?
A. I talk too fast.
A. Gordon Gekko.
A. People who say they can totally tell the difference between the vodkas.
A. What I really want to do is direct.
A. Grilled cheese sandwich: white bread, Tesco economy mild cheddar, tomatoes, lettuce and tabasco. Chocolate milk to chase.
A. Let Down, Radiohead; The Execution of All Things, Rilo Kiley; Just Like Christmas, Low; Modern Girl, Sleater-Kinney; Surface to Air, The Chemical Brothers.
A. Gravity's Rainbow (Thomas Pynchon) Mason & Dixon (Thomas Pynchon) Vineland (Thomas Pynchon) Already Dead (Denis Johnson) Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
A. Sho nuf: Gravity's Rainbow.
A. Imagine you're writing an email to a friend; continue for 80,000 words.
A. Which character are you?
A. I started out trying to write a simple love triangle; just three relationships and their accompanying sex scenes. But life got in the way, as it will, and it ended up being as much about Sarajevo, Business and The Gun as fleshy treasures.