Time Lost Can Never Be Recovered...and This

I Pride Myself On Having A Journalistic Remove.

To Me, Writing Is A Very Physical Process. I Lay Out The Entire Book With The Two Narratives Side By Side On My Bedroom Floor, And Just Get Down On My Hands And Knees And Start Looking At It In That Physical Space. "does This Really Follow From This? Should This Be Here Or Elsewhere?" I Will Literally Cut The Paper Into Paragraphs. I'll Cut It Into Segments And Move The Segments Around From One Narrative To The Other Until I Feel That I've Found The Natural Structure.

Germans Grew Reluctant To Stay In Communal Ski Lodges, Fearing They Might Talk In Their Sleep. They Postponed Surgeries Because Of The Lip-loosening Effects Of Anesthetic. Dreams Reflected The Ambient Anxiety. One German Dreamed That An Sa Man Came To His Home And Opened The Door To His Oven, Which Then Repeated Every Negative Remark The Household Had Made Against The Government.

The Intermittent Depression That Had Shadowed Him Throughout His Adult Life Was About To Envelop Him Once Again.

There's Something So Relentless And Foul About Hitler And His People, And The Way Things Progressed From Year To Year. It Just Got To Me In The Strangest Way.