When I Was Writing My

Later On, When I Tried To Imagine How I Might Have Ruined Things, That Would Occur To Me - That I'd So Rarely Resisted, That I Hadn't Made It Hard Enough For Him. Maybe It Was Like Gathering Your Strength And Hurling Your Body Against A Door You Believe To Be Locked, And Then The Door Opens Easily - It Wasn't Locked At All - And You're Standing Looking Into The Room, Trying To Remember What It Was You Thought You Wanted.

At That Time In My Life, No Conclusion Was A Bad Conclusion. Something Ended, And You Stopped Wishing And Worrying. You Could Consider Your Mistakes, And You Might Be Embarrassed By Them, But The Box Was Sealed, The Door Was Shut, You Were No Longer Immersed In The Confusing Middle.

Ironically, Writing A Novel Is Not A Way To Sort Out Your Confusion.

In Life We're Most Hell-bent On Proving Things That We're Not Really Sure Are True.

I Just Like To Inhabit A Character Really Deeply.