I was reading something today, which was an analysis of the thing that you always think you’re going to get told when you get arrested, which is, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” That’s the only sort of culturally available place in which, when you say something, you render it public and everyone owns it. It is no longer yours. It’s rare that that’s recognized. In our personal lives, when we tell someone something, we’re really annoyed if they tell someone else. And, as a writer, that’s a constant pitfall because people talk and that’s the life that’s in front of you and it may well end up in your work. That is apparently a form of, not theft exactly, but of using real life. When I write a book, I don’t feel I should decide who’s allowed to read it. It’s put out into space, and speaking is like that. That’s partly what I’m trying to do in these monologues.
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