It Is A Special Kind

And I Do Think That Great Fiction, Even When It's Comedic, Has An Urgency Or An Inevitability To It, A Sense That The Writer Absolutely Had To Write This Particular Story In This Way.

It's Funny, For A Long Time I Would Go Watermelon-red And Deny That I Was A Magical Realist. It Felt Imprecise To Me, A Misrepresentation.

People Really Get Myopic As They Get Older. We're Not A Culture That Encourages Dreaming Or Distraction. We're Not Ever Good At Just Being. I Remember Reading Some Adrienne Rich Quote Where She Talks About How Important It Was Just To Watch Bubbles Rise In A Glass.

My Older Sister Has Entire Kingdoms Inside Of Her, And Some Of Them Are Only Accessible At Certain Seasons, In Certain Kinds Of Weather. One Such Melting Occurs In Summer Rain, At Midnight, During The Vine-green Breathing Time Right Before Sleep. You Have To Ask The Right Question, Throw The Right Rope Bridge, To Get There-and Then Bolt Across The Chasm Between You, Before Your Bridge Collapses.

I Do Think There's Something When You Have An Unbroken Day, And It Feels Like You And Your Attention Can Just Be Together Like Birds Again And You Can Actually Think And Dream A Little.