When You Started Thinking It

Nobody Had Forgotten Anything Here. In Berlin, You Had To Wrestle With The Past, You Had To Build On The Ruins, Inside Them. It Wasn't Like America Where We Scraped The Earth Clean, Thinking We Could Start Again Every Time.

How Many People Ask You To Come Share Their Life?

Your Protagonist Is Your Reader’s Portal Into The Story. The More Observant He Or She Can Be, The More Vivid Will Be The World You’re Creating. They Don’t Have To Be Super-educated, They Just Have To Be Mentally Active. Keep Them Looking, Thinking, Wondering, Remembering.

You Must Find A Boy Your Own Age. Someone Mild And Beautiful To Be Your Lover. Someone Who Will Tremble For Your Touch, Offer You A Marguerite By Its Long Stem With His Eyes Lowered. Someone Whose Fingers Are A Poem.

The Santa Anas Blew In Hot From The Desert, Shriveling The Last Of The Spring Grass Into Whiskers Of Pale Straw. Only The Oleanders Thrived, Their Delicate Poisonous Blooms, Their Dagger Green Leaves. We Could Not Sleep In The Hot Dry Nights, My Mother And I.