I Dream Of Writing A

It Is A Magical Thing For A Handful Of Words, Artfully Arranged, To Stop Time. To Conjure A Place, A Person, A Situation, In All Its Specificity And Dimensions. To Affect Us And Alter Us, As Profoundly As Real People And Things Do.

Most People Trusted In The Future, Assuming That Their Preferred Version Of It Would Unfold. Blindly Planning For It, Envisioning Things That Weren't The Case. This Was The Working Of The Will. This Was What Gave The World Purpose And Direction. Not What Was There But What Was Not.

On A Sticky August Evening Two Weeks Before Her Due Date, Ashima Ganguli Stands In The Kitchen Of A Central Square Apartment, Combining Rice Krispies And Planters Peanuts And Chopped Red Onion In Bowl.

I Am Drawn To Any Story That Makes Me Want To Read From One Sentence To The Next. I Have No Other Criterion.

Fiction Is The Only Way I Know A Human Being Can Inhabit The Mind Of Another Human Being.