I Have A Terrible Memory.

Gravy Is The Simplest, Tastiest, Most Memory-laden Dish I Know How To Make: A Little Flour, Salt And Pepper, Crispy Bits Of Whatever Meat Anchored The Meal, A Couple Of Cups Of Water Or Milk And Slow Stirring To Break Up Lumps.

Piece By Piece, My Mother Is Being Stolen From Me.

I Was No Cherokee. I Was No Warrior. I Was Nobody Special. I Was Just A Girl, Scared And Angry. When I Saw Myself In Daddy Glen's Eyes, I Wanted To Die. No, I Wanted To Be Already Dead, Cold And Gone. Everything Felt Hopeless. He Looked At Me And I Was Ashamed Of Myself. It Was Like Sliding Down An Endless Hole, Seeing Myself At The Bottom, Dirty, Ragged, Poor, Stupid.

He Never Said "don't Tell Your Mama." He Never Had To Say It. I Did Not Know How To Tell Anyone What I Felt, What Scared Me And Shamed Me... (109)

What's The Best Thing You Can Do For Your Writing? Construct A Boring Life.