From the Paris Review interview with Tobias Wolff comes this gem, in answer to the question of why writers don’t like to talk about their work:
But I have also learned that you can be patient and diligent and sometimes it just doesn’t strike sparks. After a while you begin to understand that writing well is not a promised reward for being virtuous. No, every time you do it you’re stepping off into darkness and hoping for some light. You can be faithful, work hard, not waste your talents in drink, and still not have it happen. That’s what makes writers nervous—the sense of the thing being given, day by day. You might have been writing good stories for years, then for some reason the stories aren’t so good. Anything that seems able to jinx you, to invite trouble, writers avoid. And one of the things that writers very quickly learn to avoid is talking their work away. Talking about your work hardens it prematurely, and weakens the charge. You need to keep a fluid sense of the work in hand—it has to be able to change almost without your being aware that it’s changing.
What levels me is how he clarifies the whole issue by admitting that it isn’t so much about losing the story as it is about the whole enterprise falling apart. In a moment of clarity, seeing your sense of yourself as a writer become just what you suspected it might be: a failure of imagination. Reluctance to discuss the work is an attempt to prevent that moment from coming true. To make it just another of many possible fictions.