I Thought, If I Write A Book

And I Am Pretty Sure That's The Point Of Reading Fiction -- So Someone Else Can Say In A Way You Never Would Have Something You Recognize Immediately.

We All Stood And Gathered Our Backpacks And I Looked At The Floor Around My Chair To Make Sure I Hadn’t Dropped Anything. I Was Terrified Of Unwittingly Leaving Behind A Scrap Of Paper On Which Were Written All My Private Desires And Humiliations. The Fact That No Such Scrap Of Paper Existed, That I Did Not Even Keep A Diary Or Write Letters Except Bland, Earnest, Falsely Cheerful Ones To My Family (we Lost To St. Francis In Soccer, But I Think We’ll Win Our Game This Saturday; We Are Working On Self-portraits In Art Class, And The Hardest Part For Me Is The Nose) Never Decreased My Fear.

We All Make Mistakes, Don't We? But If You Can't Forgive Yourself, You'll Always Be An Exile In Your Own Life.

I Like It When Characters Are Some Combination Of Appealing And Maybe Flawed Or Self-interested. I Think In Terms Of Scenes, And What I Want A Scene To Achieve, And I Think That The Psychological Realism Arises From That.

I'm Able To Separate Fiction And Reality. I Guess It Remains To Be Seen If Other People Are.