Once I've discovered the story, I might restructure it, maybe move things around, set up a clue that something is going to happen later, but that happens much later in an editorial capacity.

In the desert the most loved waters, like a lover's name, are carried blue in your hands, enter your throat. One swallows absence.

He was a man who wrote, who interpreted the world. Wisdom grew out of being handed just the smallest sliver of emotion. A glance could lead to paragraphs of theory.

That's Anil's path. She grows up in Sri Lanka, goes and gets educated abroad, and through fate or chance gets brought back by the Human Rights Commission to investigate war crimes.

So we came to understand that small and important thing, that our lives could be large with interesting strangers who would pass us without any personal involvement.

I thought I was being loved because I was being altered.

There always should be something hanging unfinished before a scene ends so that there's a reason for going to the next scene.