As Such, Anything Is Always Possible, Even

When My Husband First Read A Draft, He Said, "you Spend Too Much Time Describing The Characters' Outfits." He Was Right. I Removed Much Of The Clothes Talk, But Quite A Bit Remained.

As A Writer, You Want To Go Somewhere Else Sometimes. You Want To Vary The Terrain That You're Exploring.

Like Semmering Academy, The Grove School Was A Gothic Pile Of Bricks Run By 1950s-era Chalk Drones, Which Maintained Its Cultural Viability By Perpetuating A Weirdly Seductive Anxiety Throughout Its Community. Mary Herself Was A Victim Of The Seduction; Despite The Trying And Repetitive Emotional Requirements Of Her Job, She Remained Eternally Fascinated By The Wicker-thin Girls And Their Wicker-thin Mothers, All Of Them Favoring Dark Wool Skirts And Macintoshes And Unreadably Far-away Expressions; If She Squinted, They Could Have Emerged Intact From Any Of The Last Seven Decades.

I Used To Have A Really Sharp Memory. And Its Loss Has Proven Destabilizing From An Identity Perspective.

To Believe You're Being Psychically Attacked Gives You An Understanding Of Your Illness That No Western Doctor Can Provide; This Can Be Reassuring When You've Exhausted The Western Doctor Tool Kit, And The Doctors Are Sending You To Acupuncturists For Pain Relief.