You Built Your Walls Too, She Tells

Every Immigrant Family, It Seems, Has Someone Who Does Not Belong In The New Country They Have Come To. It Feels Like Permanent Exile To That One Brother Or Wife Who Cannot Stand A Silent Fate In Boston Or London Or Melbourne. I’ve Met Many Who Remain Haunted By The Persistent Ghost Of An Earlier Place.

She Is A Woman Of Honour And Smartness Whose Wild Leaves Out Luck, Always Taking Risks, And There Is Something In Her Brow Now, That Only She Can Recognize In A Mirror. Ideal And Idealistic In That Shiny Dark Hair! People Fall In Love With Her. She Is A Woman I Don’t Know Well Enough To Hold In My Wing, If Writers Have Wings, To Harbour For The Rest Of My Life.

What Is Interesting And Important Happens Mostly In Secret, In Places Where There Is No Power.

Once I've Discovered The Story, I Might Restructure It, Maybe Move Things Around, Set Up A Clue That Something Is Going To Happen Later, But That Happens Much Later In An Editorial Capacity.

She Had Always Wanted Words, She Loved Them; Grew Up On Them. Words Gave Her Clarity, Brought Reason, Shape.