I Think Probably The Scaredest I've Ever

The Day In 2004 When The Radiologist Told Me I Had Invasive Cancer, I Walked Down The Hospital Corridor Looking For A Phone To Call My Husband, And I Could Almost See The Fear Coming Toward Me Like A Big, Black Shadow.

I Was Not 15 Anymore, And Choices No Longer Had That Same Clear, Bright Edge To Them.

Does Any Woman Ever Count The Grains Of Her Harvest And Say: Good Enough? Or Does One Always Think Of What More One Might Have Laid In, Had The Labor Been Harder, The Ambition More Vast, The Choices More Sage?

Write What You Know. Every Guide For The Aspiring Author Advises This. Because I Live In A Long-settled Rural Place, I Know Certain Things. I Know The Feel Of A Newborn Lamb's Damp, Tight-curled Fleece And The Sharp Sound A Well-bucket Chain Makes As It Scrapes On Stone. But More Than These Material Things, I Know The Feelings That Flourish In Small Communities. And I Know Other Kinds Of Emotional Truths That I Believe Apply Across The Centuries.

Because I Worked As A Newspaper Reporter For About 14 Years Before Attempting My First Novel, I Learned To Write Under Almost Any Circumstances- By Candle Light, In Longhand, In African Villages Where There Was No Power, Under Shelling In Kurdistan.