You Just Walk Over There

No One Could Tell You: You Just Had To Go Through It On Your Own. If You Were Lucky, You Came Out On The Other Side And Understood. If You Didn't, You Kept Getting Thrust Back, Retracing Those Steps, Until You Finally Got It Right.

I Think My Biggest Problem, Though, At Least In Drafts, Is Not Repeating Myself. After Eight Books I Get Worried That A Character Or Piece Of Dialog Might Be Too Much Like Something I've Already Done. So It's A Challenge To Keep It Fresh.

That Was The Thing About Being Alone, In Theory Or In Principle. Whatever Happened - Good, Bad, Or Anywhere In Between - It Was Always, If Nothing Else, All Your Own.

You Know, When You Think About It, That’s Kind Of A Weird Thing. I Mean It’s Meant To Be Sympathetic, Right? But It’s Kind Of Not. Like You’re Telling The Person There’s Nothing Unique About What They’re Saying I Considered This As A Couple Of Kids On Rollerblades Whizzed Past, Hockey Sticks Over Their Shoulders. “yeah,” I Said, Finally, “but You Could Also Look At It The Other Way. Like No Matter How Bad Things Are For You, I Can Still Relate.

As Far As I Was Concerned, We'd Come To A Draw: I Hadn't Wanted To Come, And She Didn't Want Me To Leave. We Were Even. But I Knew My Mother Wouldn't See It That Way. Lately, We Didn't Seem To See Anything The Same.