That is how it feels. Like everything between us is twisted together, friendship and love and family, so I cant tell the difference between any of them.

Because even a sliver of distance between us is infuriating.

When you're a writer, you hear your internal critic, and that's really hard to get over. And then sometimes you hear critiques from classmates and stuff. But when a book comes out, it's just hundreds of opinions and you have to learn to separate out the ones you want to listen to or figure out many you want to listen to.

Seeing people who are actually reading your book and listening to the wide variety of reactions they have to it, is really special.

He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.

I met him while I was imprisoned," I say, and my voice sounds far away even to me. "I was just curious." "I wouldn't judge him too harshly," says Fernando. "Jeanine can be extraordinarily persuasive to those who aren't naturally suspicious. I have always been naturally suspicious." ... "Yeah," I say. "So have I.

I used to go outside every day and invent these elaborate worlds and scenarios in my head, and when I grew too old for playing pretend, I started to write everything down instead.