My stories are sometimes closer to poems or meditations, but often there is at least a little narrative in them.

Part of my mind is working on how to end the thing while I'm going on. You need at least two brains to write.

Why don't you like the foods I like?" he asks sometimes. "Why don't you like the foods I make?" I answer.

Because I'm not writing all the time (thank goodness), my mind is sometimes pleasantly blank.

When I'm trying a new form- trying to do something I'm not used to doing, which was true of the novel.

Nearly every morning, a certain woman in our community comes running out of her house with her face white and her overcoat flapping wildly. She cries out, "Emergency, emergency," and one of us runs to her and holds her until her fears are calmed. We know she is making it up; nothing is has really happened to her. But we understand, because there is hardly one of us who has no been moved at some time to do just what she has done, and every time, it has taken all our strength, and even the strength of our friends and families, too, to keep us quiet.

Like a tropical storm, I, too, may one day become ‘better organized.