I'm Going Mad, I Told Myself. Let

At That Moment, The Urge To Be Writing Was Stronger Than Any Notion She Had Of What She Might Write.

The Cost Of Oblivious Daydreaming Was Always This Moment Of Return, The Realignment With What Had Been Before And Now Seemed A Little Worse.

I Often Don't Read Reviews.

When There Are No Consequences, Being Wrong Is Simply A Diversion.

How Can A Novelist Achieve Atonement When, With Her Absolute Power Of Deciding Outcomes, She Is Also God?