A Trial Is Two Narratives Competing For

What I Want To Do Is Tell Stories About Normal People In The American Suburbs. I Don't Write The Book Where It's A Conspiracy Reaching The Prime Minister; I Don't Write The Book With The Big Serial Killer Who Lops Off Heads. My Setting Is A Very Placid Pool Of Suburbia, Family Life. And Within That I Can Make Pretty Big Splashes.

In Real Life, Coincidences Happen All The Time. In Novels, They Are Leapt Upon With Fury.

Painful Memories Didn't Just Ease Back In-they Shoved The Door Open Hard, All Of Them And All At Once

A Dancer On Break Approached Him. She Smiled. Each Tooth Was Angled In A Different Direction, As If Her Mouth Were The Masterwork Of A Mad Orthodontist. "hi," She Said. "hi." "you're Really Cute." "i Don't Have Any Money." She Spun And Walked Away. Ah, Romance.

Sure, On A Larger Scale, It Was Healthy To Have People Out There You Cared About More Than Yourself. She Knew That. But Then There Was The Abject Fear You Would Lose It. They Say Possessions Own You. Not So. Loved Ones Own You. You Are Forever Held Hostage Once You Care So Much.