I Am Clumsy, A Late And Nervous

Everybody's Damaged By Something.

I Was Not Exploiting Any Real Individual's Story In Writing Room, Of Course I Was Aware That My Novel, By Commenting On Such Situations, Would Run The Risk Of Falling Into Those Traps Of Voyeurism, Sensationalism And Sentimentality.

At The Door, There Was One Of Those Moment When Two People Realize That They Like Each Other More Than They Know Each Other. This Is Nicer Than The Opposite Situation, But More Awkward. You Try To Remember The Protocol For Touching. You Hate To Gush, Or Presume To Much, Yet You Are Unwilling To Let The Moment Pass Without Without Some Gesture

I'm Very Interested In How Idealistic Young People Can Get Caught Up In All Sorts Of Systems Of Extreme Belief, You Know, Whether It's Cults Or Whether It's Suicide Bombers.

It's All Real In Outside, Everything There Is, Because I Saw An Airplane In The Blue Between The Clouds. Ma And Me Can't Go There Because We Don't Know The Secret Code, But It's Real All The Same. Before I Didn't Know To Be Mad That We Can't Open Door, My Head Was Too Small To Have Outside In It.