Fiction Is A Piece Of

Delia Picked At The Raw Sores Of Her Conscience...drunk Or Sober, Delia Lived In The Small Town In Her Heart, Ignoring The World In Which All Her Love Had Turned To Grief.

Two Or Three Things I Know For Sure, And One Is That I'd Rather Go Naked Than Wear The Coat The World Has Made For Me.

Women Lose Their Lives Not Knowing They Can Do Something Different. Men Eat Themselves Up Believing They Have To Be The Thing They Have Been Made. Children Go Crazy. Really, Even Children Go Crazy, Believing The Shape Of The Life They Must Live Is As Small And Mean And Broken As They Are Told.

It's Fun To Tease People About Where Fiction And Life Intersect.

For Years And Years, I Convinced Myself That I Was Unbreakable, An Animal With An Animal Strength Or Something Not Human At All. Me, I Told People, I Take Damage Like A Wall, A Brick Wall That Never Falls Down, Never Feels Anything, Never Flinches Or Remembers. I Am One Woman But I Carry In My Body All The Stories I Have Ever Been Told, Women I Have Known, Women Who Have Taken Damage Until They Tell Themselves They Can Feel No Pain At All.