When You're A Kid, It's Hard To

Whenever Someone Asks Me About Fantasy Versus Realism, I'm Like, "i Don't Know, Guys. Did We Not All Just Descend Into Some Underworld, Watch Strangers From Our Past Kaleidoscope Through Us According To Some Pattern That Is Both Illogical And Has Its Own Strange Melting Truth, And Then Wake Up And Have A Pop-tart?" Why Are We Talking About Fantasy And Reality Like They're Opposed?

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.

In Short Stories There's More Permission To Be Elliptical. You Can Have Image-logic, Or It's Almost Like A Poem In That You Can Come To A Lot Of Meanings Within A Short Space.

When I Was Younger I Used To Lock Myself In The Bathroom And Read In The Dry Tub. I Was Also A Fan Of The 'shoe Closet.' Reading Felt Thrilling And Illicit And Deeply Private To Me, And I Felt Vulnerable Doing It In Public.

The Folks I Read As A Kid Really Set Me Up. I Owe A Huge Debt To Ray Bradbury And Madeleine L'engle.