Clive Cussler

I've always liked Mexican food.

Some people are drawn to a van Gogh or a Rembrandt. Some are attracted to exotic guns. Coins. Stamps. I am attracted to cars.

I'm not a dedicated writer in the sense of Stephen King.

Either you've got the bug, or you haven't. There are many things I'd rather be doing than writing a book.

After putting the kids to bed, I would think about what I wanted to write.

I don't think of myself as a writer.

I didn't have the great American novel burning inside me, but I felt I could try my hand at popular fiction.

I can't retire. My readers won't let me.

My job is to entertain the readers in such a manner that, when they reach the end of the book, they feel like they've gotten their money's worth.

When I started writing, I just hoped for a nice little paperback series.

Maybe some day they'll find me behind the computer, just bones and cobwebs.

My books are easy to read. No folderol.

I'm a storyteller.

I want it to be easy to read. I'm not writing exotic literature.

It's a job. I entertain my readers. I get up in the morning, and I start typing.

I never had a highfalutin' view of what I write.

I like snappy dialogue and short descriptions and lots of action.

If ever a car was created by designers with dreams of grandeur, it had to be the 1958 Buick Limited: the heftiest, highest-priced and most opulent monster ever to hit the street in the '50s.

I purchased a 1955 Rolls-Royce that my wife liked because it was new the year we were married. Then came a 1926 Hispano-Suiza Cabriolet that I bought at my first classic car auction after I had three martinis. As more cars were added, I had to buy a warehouse.

After the Dirk Pitt books became best-sellers, I could afford to buy the more exotic examples of classic autos.