The Girl Has A Funny Way Of

I Have Friends Who Are Capable Of Writing A Very Rough Draft And Then Going Back And Embroidering - They're Sort Of The Cathedral Builders Of Fiction. I Never Really Know What I'm Doing, And All My Pleasure's On The Level Of The Line. It's A Weird Way To Move Forward. It's Kind Of Like A Way To Caterpillar Your Way Through These Great Woods. The Best Ones, Whatever I Feel Like I'm Writing About, Some Other Secret Thing Will Begin To Come Into Focus.

Granana Doesn't Understand What The Big Deal Is. She Didn't Cry At Olivia's Funeral, And I Doubt She Even Remembers Olivia's Name. Granana Lost, Like, Ninety-two Million Kids In Childbirth. All Of Her Brothers Died In The War. She Survived The Depression By Stealing Radish Bulbs From Her Neighbors' Garden, And Fishing The Elms For Pigeons. Dad Likes To Remind Us Of This In A Grave Voice, As If It Explained Her Jaundiced Pitilessness: "boys. Your Grandmother Ate Pigeons."

My Older Sister Has Entire Kingdoms Inside Of Her, And Some Of Them Are Only Accessible At Certain Seasons, In Certain Kinds Of Weather. One Such Melting Occurs In Summer Rain, At Midnight, During The Vine-green Breathing Time Right Before Sleep. You Have To Ask The Right Question, Throw The Right Rope Bridge, To Get There-and Then Bolt Across The Chasm Between You, Before Your Bridge Collapses.

When You're A Kid, It's Hard To Tell The Innocuous Secrets From The Ones That Will Kill You If You Keep Them.

I Had Been Eagerly Waiting Just Such A Disaster. Storms, Wolves, Snakebite, Floods-these Are The Occasions To Find Out How Your Father Sees You, How Strong And Necessary He Thinks You Are.