The Truth Is That She Told Me

... As A Rule Of Thumb, Whenever There Appears A Plural, Correct For A Singular. Should I Ever Let Slip A Royal We, Put Me Out Of My Misery With A Swift Blow To The Head.

I’ve Always Liked The Feeling Of Traveling Light; There Is Something In Me That Wants To Feel I Could Leave Wherever I Am, At Any Time, Without Any Effort. The Idea Of Being Weighed Down Made Me Uneasy, As If I Lived On The Surface Of A Frozen Lake And Each New Trapping Of Domestic Life - A Pot, A Chair, A Lamp - Threatened To Be The Thing That Sent Me Through The Ice.

I Feel Really Strongly About Not Wanting To Overly Guide The Reader About What He Or She Should Think. I Really Trust The Reader To Know For Themselves And Not To Need Too Much. You Have Your Own Imagination, Your Own Experiences, Your Own Feelings, And A Novel Wants Ultimately To Ask Questions. It Doesn't Assert Anything, Or Shouldn't, I Think.

I Won't Waste Your Time With The Injuries Of My Childhood, With My Loneliness, Or The Fear And Sadness Of The Years I Spent Inside My Parents' Marriage, Under The Reign Of My Father's Rage, Afer All, Who Isn't A Survivor From The Wreck Of Childhood?

I've Reached The Age Where Bruises Are Formed From Failures Within Rather Than Accidents Without.