“So,” she says slowly, reviewing my case item by item, “you like ice holes, sinkholes, peepholes and blowholes?” I nod. “But not loopholes?” I nod again. Hole this, hole that – even when I’m determined not to just be myself, I’m such an asshole. I just can’t help it.”

“I’m not good at talking. Can’t I just nod my way through a conversation? It’s better than nodding off.”

“I can guess which car my boss drives. I’ll just look for the one with the hole in the back, like an asshole.”

“You did too! You stole my bike, A-HOLE!" I yell out. Jeez, I'm like a Chatty Cathy Doll: just pull my string and I'll say, "You stole my bike, A-HOLE!”

“I’m on a side of a road somewhere, stuck in the middle of a very deep hole, with no way of getting out. Never mind how I got in there, it’s not relevant to the story. I’ll invent a back-story… I was walking to get pizza and a chasm opened up in the earth and I fell in, and now I’m at the bottom of this hole, screaming for help. And along comes you. Now, maybe you just keep walking. You know, there’s a strange guy screaming from the center of the Earth. It’s perhaps best to just ignore him. But let’s say that you don’t. Let’s say that you stop. The sensible thing to do in this situation is to call down to me and say “I’m going to look for a ladder. I will be right back.” But you don’t do that. Instead you sit down at the edge of this abyss, and then you push yourself forward, and jump. And when you land at the bottom of the hole and dust yourself off, I’m like “What the hell are you doing?! Now there are two of us in this hole!” And you look at me and say, “Well yeah, but now I’m highly motivated to get you out.” This is what I love about novels, both reading them and writing them. They jump into the abyss to be with you where you are”

“I can’t tell my ass from a hole in the ground. Especially if that hole is hairy and emits foul odors.”