How could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home?

You could not be filled with hate and be beautiful. Like any other girl, I wanted to be beautiful. But I was filled with hate.

It's hard, because when you talk about process or your characters ruling your narrative, it sounds like you have no control, but obviously you're ultimately the author, so you do have control.

Out loud I said I had two children. Silently I said three. I always felt like apologizing to her for that.

I dont think ignorance is a way that you gain distance on something.

Well, it's my voice, so it's more accessible that way, and there are also all sorts of things like plot and timelines that are already known entities, so for me, it's very different from writing fiction.

She no longer believed in talk. It never rescued anything.