I Don't Usually Read My Reviews. I've

We're Taught To Find The Antecedents To Our Adult Failures In Childhood Traumas, And So We Spend Our Lives Looking Bacwards And Pointing Fingers, Rather Than Bucking Up And Forging Ahead. But What If Your Childhood Was All A Big Misunderstanding? An Elaborate Ruse? What Does That Say About Failure? Better Yet, What Does That Say About Potential?

Home Is The Place Where, When You Go There, They Have To Take You In. In Other Words: Home Has Exceedingly Low Standards.

I Used To Have A Really Sharp Memory. And Its Loss Has Proven Destabilizing From An Identity Perspective.

As Such, Anything Is Always Possible, Even If Your Protagonist Is A Plumber. But It's The Possibility, The Limitless Possibilities, Of Any Fake Life, That Make Writing About It So Challenging.

My Husband Is Always Accusing Me Of Being A Context-free Individual. He Asks Something And He Has No Idea Where It Came From Or What It Related To. I Have To Supply Him With Way More Supplementary Information Than I Ever Have To Supply My Female Friends.