Anyone's Childhood Can Be An Act Of

Open A Book This Minute And Start Reading. Don’t Move Until You’ve Reached Page Fifty. Until You’ve Buried Your Thoughts In Print. Cover Yourself With Words. Wash Yourself Away. Dissolve.

So This Is Where The Years Of Maturity Deliver Us - To This Needy, Selfish, Unwieldy Wish To Be Somebody Else's First And Primal Other.

I Don't Think I Would Have Been A Writer If I Hadn't Been A Mother. I Wanted To Construct Something That Contained Some Of These Feelings That I Had, Some Of These Discoveries Or Revelations.

Eventually, Everything Gets Stuck Between A Pair Of Parentheses Or Buried In The Bottom Of A Trunk.

In One Day I Had Altered My Life; My Life, Therefore, Was Alterable. This Simple Axiom Did Not Call Out For Exegesis; No, It Entered My Bloodstream Directly, As Powerful As Heroin. I Could Feel It Pump And Surge, The Way It Brightened My Veins To A Kind Of Glass. I Had Wakened That Morning To Narrowness And Predestination And Now I Was Falling Asleep In The Storm Of My Own Free Will.