I've Never Had A Moment's Doubt. I

Narrative Tension Is Primarily About Withholding Information.

She Bent Her Finger And Then Straightened It. The Mystery Was In The Instant Before It Moved, The Dividing Moment Between Not Moving And Moving, When Her Intention Took Effect. It Was Like A Wave Breaking. If She Could Only Find Herself At The Crest, She Thought, She Might Find The Secret Of Herself, That Part Of Her That Was Really In Charge. She Brought Her Forefinger Closer To Her Face And Stared At It, Urging It To Move. It Remained Still Because She Was Pretending... . And When She Did Crook It Finally, The Action Seemed To Start In The Finger Itself, Not In Some Part Of Her Mind.

How Can A Novelist Achieve Atonement When, With Her Absolute Power Of Deciding Outcomes, She Is Also God? There Is No One, No Entity Or Higher Form That She Can Appeal To, Or Be Reconciled With, Or That Can Forgive Her. There Is Nothing Outside Her. In Her Imagination She Has Set The Limits And The Terms. No Atonement For God, Or Novelists, Even If They Are Atheists. It Was Always An Impossible Task, And That Was Precisely The Point. The Attempt Was All.

Perhaps The Greatest Reading Pleasure Has An Element Of Self-annihilation. To Be So Engrossed That You Barely Know You Exist.

I'm Holding Back, Delaying The Information. I'm Lingering In The Prior Moment Because It Was A Time When Other Outcomes Were Still Possible.