I Was Not Exploiting Any Real Individual's

Writers Should Be Applauded For Their Ability To Make Things Up.

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.

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.

Writing Stories Is My Way Of Scratching That Itch: My Escape From The Claustrophobia Of Individuality. It Lets Me, At Least For A While, Live More Than One Life, Walk More Than One Path. Reading, Of Course, Can Do The Same.

It’s Called Mind Over Matter. If We Don’t Mind, It Doesn’t Matter.” When A Bit Of Me Hurts, I Always Mind.