Much of your writing deals with topics that are deeply personal, and you are often a major “character” in your own writing. Do you have any guidelines about how much of yourself you are willing to reveal in your work, where those boundaries are? I just do what feels comfortable. I get less and less interested in writing about myself. I mean, I am a character in that I’m the witness to whatever’s going on. I use myself as this sort of narrative line that gives me an opportunity to write about everything I see. That’s just the way I’ve done it. So it always remains personal, so that one’s, hopefully one’s consciousness is revealed on the page, the lurchings of the brain and the senses. In This Cold Heaven, you write that “I am a shy traveler.” How has your shyness shaped you as a writer? It makes me into a spy. I used to be very shy when I was young, and somewhere along the line I learned to talk. But I think, giving myself the most credit possible, I think it makes me a good listener. Because most of the time, I’d rather just listen. When I’m in other places, I listen and I watch. I mean, that’s what a writer has to do. You spend all your time interjecting your own personality, you fail to notice other people’s personalities — or they’re just responding to you. How do you define yourself as a writer? I’m a jack of all trades. I am violently against labels. I think a writer should be able to write anything that they want to write or are good enough at. And I just happen to be interested in both fiction and nonfiction, and I’ve been involved in theatre, and I’m working on a libretto for a dance theatre opera piece. It all interests me, so why not? Do you find that there is overlap between genres? How have your experiences as a poet, for example, influenced how you write nonfiction? Well, hopefully, it’s directed me toward paying more attention to language, which I cherish in the sense of music and breath and silence. I read poetry every day, I think its wonderful stuff. I think everybody should read it everyday and not be scared of it. Who do you read? Who moves you? Lately I’ve been reading translations from medieval Chinese Buddhist poetry, by Red Pines, who’s actually an American monk. I read a lot of things from Asia, both Japan and China. I read all the 20th century American and Irish and South American writers, poets. You’ve spoken about the influences of Buddhism and eastern thought on your life. In what ways do you think these influences are reflected in your writing? I’ve been involved in sitting practice since 1969, and I’ve done a lot of Buddhist studies. I think at this point it’s just part of my life. If it ever altered the way I see things, it’s been altered for so long that I don’t even notice it. It’s really just a part of me and how I see things. I think it’s certainly in there. Before Match to the Heart, I never mentioned that I had a practice, and yet people who read my work who were familiar with things Buddhist always recognized it. So I guess that means it’s just there. I mean, I’m not going to write a book about it, that’s for sure. There’s nothing to write about: “She sat down, and 50 years later, she stood up.”