I Must Say, In The Case Of

When People Write To Me With Stories, They Are Never Ones That Work For Me. There's Something Mysterious About Which Ones Catch You.

Once I Spent A Whole Day There, A Blade Of Grass In Each Hand To Anchor Me To The Warm Earth. I Watched The Sun Rise, Pass Over My Head And Set. Ladybirds Mated On My Knuckle; A Shrew Nibbled A Hole In My Stocking While I Tried Not To Laugh. Such A Day Was Worth Any Punishment.

I Really Like To Keep My Palette Small But To Be Very Intense, Very Myopic.

When I Tell Her What I’m Thinking And She Tells Me What She’s Thinking, Our Each Ideas Jumping Into The Other’s Head, Like Coulouring Blue Crayon On Top Of Yellow That Makes Green.

The Idea Was To Focus On The Primal Drama Of Parenthood: The Way From Moment To Moment You Swing From Comforter To Tormentor, Just As Kids Simultaneously Light Up Our Lives And Drive Us Nuts. I Was Trying To Capture That Strange, Bipolar Quality Of Parenthood. For All That Being A Parent Is Normal Statistically, It's Not Normal Psychologically. It Produces Some Of The Most Extreme Emotions You'll Ever Have.