It Seemed There Was No

Writing Is Always A Process Of Discovery—i Never Know The End, Or Even The Events On The Next Page, Until They Happen. There’s A Constant Interplay Between The Imagining And Shaping Of The Story.

It Seemed There Was No End At All To The Lies A Person Could Tell, Once She Got Started.

He Had Handed His Daughter To Caroline Gill And That Act Had Led Him Here, Years Later, To This Girl In Motion Of Her Own, This Girl Who Had Decided Yes, A Brief Moment Of Release In The Back Of A Car, In The Room Of A Silent House, This Girl Who Had Stood Up Later, Adjusting Her Clothes, With Now Knowledge Of How That Moment Was Already Shaping Her Life.

Short On Money, Long On Hope

...so Young, So Lonely And Naive, That She Imagined Herself As Some Sort Of Vessel To Be Filled Up With Love. But It Wasn't Like That. The Love Was Within Her All The Time And Its Only Renewal Came From Giving It Away.