My Main Reader Was My

So This Was What It Felt Like To Lose Yourself. Again. To Let Go Of Your Future And Let It Rise Up And Up Until Finally You Couldn't See It Anymore, And You Knew That You Had To Start Over.

Sometimes He Thinks That If He Could Only Trace The Path Of His Life Carefully Enough, Everything Would Become Clear. The Ways That He Screwed Up Would Make Sense. He Closes His Eyes Tightly. His Life Wasn't Always A Mistake, He Thinks, And He Breathes Uncertainly For Awhile, Trying To Find A Pathway Into Unconsciousness, Into Sleep.

I Have Long Admired Caroline Leavitt's Probing Insight Into People, Her Wit And Compassion, Her Ability To Find Humor In Dark Situations, And Conversely, Her Tenderness Towards Characters.

The Feeling Of Being An Outsider, And The Identity Theme, Are Hardwired Into Me. If There's Anything Really Autobiographical In My Fiction, It's That Feeling. I Always Feel That Way.

There's A Lot Of Effort Expended Once You Begin To Completely Trash Your Life. Sometimes, Writing Feels Like This To Me.