Memories Are Like Water.

And I Know I'm Supposed To Feel Guilty For Wanting People To Buy My Books... And Books In General? Novels And Poetry, They Belong To The Realm Of Art. How Dirty Of Us To Try To Hawk Art! But, After A Decade Of Hand-wringing And Apologies, I Can't Quite Muster The Guilt Anymore.

I Always Think I Know The Way A Novel Will Go. I Write Maps On Oversized Art Pads Like The Kind I Carried Around In College When I Was Earnest About Drawing. I Need To Have Some Idea Of The Shape Of The Novel, Where Its Headed, So That I Can Proceed With Confidence. But The Truth Is My Characters Start Doing And Saying Things I Don't Expect.

I Didn't Start Writing So That I Could More Deeply Know Myself. I Was Bored Of Myself, My Life, My Childhood, My Hometown. I Started Writing As A Way To Know Others, To Get Away From Myself.

I Feel Too Much. It's Like Being Drummed To Death From Within. You Know?

Sometimes When Reading Aloud To My Husband, I'll Start Crying. It Completely Stuns Me. As If The Words In My Body And On The Page - In Relation To Each Other - Are Cocooned Against My Own Feelings About What I'm Writing Until They're Loosed In The Air And Become Their Own. Then I Realize What I May Or May Not Have Done.