I Closed My Eyes To

Like A Kid Kicked Out Of Class. Humiliated And Free.

The Sound Of Her Laughter Was Sticky As Sap, The Smell Of Night-blooming Jasmine Soft As A Milk Bath.

I Usually Start With Something That Has Some Energy, Like A Compressed Character Or A Situation That's Wound Up Like A Spring. Then All I Have To Do Is Let It Go, Let Its Energy Carry The Story. And That May Not Turn Out To Be The Beginning Of The Book.

Find Someone Who Will Tremble For Your Touch, Someone Whose Fingers Are A Poem.

I Felt Like An Undeveloped Photograph That He Was Printing, My Image Rising To The Surface Under His Gaze.