But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget.

What would you do? Would you jump? Would you feel pity for yourself? Would you think about your family and your childhood and your dreams and all you're leaving behind? Would it hurt? Would it feel like dying? Would you cry, as I did?

It wasn't a question of deceit. Just the opposite; he wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt.

But in a story I can steal her soul.

That's what fiction is for. It's for getting at the truth when the truth isn't sufficient for the truth.

Writing doesn’t get easier with experience. The more you know, the harder it is to write.

Let the story tell itself.