I Am Simply Looking For A Companion

I Don't Usually Read My Reviews. I've Noticed Older Reviewers Are Much More Bothered By The Plot Complications. Younger Reviews Don't Seem To Be Bothered By The Complications At All.

I'm At That Age Where I Notice Friends Checking Out My Face And Wondering, Has She Been Botoxed? There's A New Map There People That Are Trying To Read. I Think If I Did Get Any Kind Of Enhancement I Would Be Very Public About It. I Don't Want People Wondering - I Want Them To Know.

I Don't Think Fake People Living In A Fake House In A Fake Suburb Are Any Less Dismissible Or Believable Than A Fake Psychic Attending A Fake School In A Fake Town. Nothing's Inherently Believable About Any Kind Of Fiction, Because All Of It's Untrue.

I Tell Myself It's A Virtue, My Failure To Sleep In My Own House, Or At All. I Tell Myself That I Spend More Hours Than Most People Aware That I Am Alive, And That Over A Lifetime This Adds Up To More Living, More Aliveness. I Am More Alive Than The Rest Of My Family. Which Is My Greatest Night Fear. Which Is Why I Hunt. I Don't Ever Want To Be More Alive Than They Are.

It's Fascinating To Imagine Two Successful Writers In One House. But When You Think About It, It Isn't Very Unusual. In Fact, So Many Writers Have Writer Spouses.