I was the goldfish that leapt out of the bowl.
My life was incoherent to me. I felt it quivering, spitting out broken teeth.
Life was an impenetrable mystery cloaked in babble.
It was hard to reassure grown-ups when you weren't certain yourself what you were feeling and thinkingโwhen thoughts dissolved before you could name them.
When I begin a story at my desk, the window to my back, the path is not there. As I start to walk, I make the path.
I have a painter's memory. I can remember things from my childhood which were so powerfully imprinted on me, the whole scene comes back.