That [photographs] Disturb Readers Is Exactly As

When Something Like This Happens, You Suddenly Have No Sense Of Reality At All. You Have Lost A Piece Of Your Past. The Infidelity Itself Is Small Potatoes Compared To The Low-level Brain Damage That Results When A Whole Chunk Of Your Life Turns Out To Have Been Completely Different From What You Thought It Was. It Becomes Impossible To Look Back At Anything That's Happened ... Without Wondering What Was Really Going On.

I Think You Often Have That Sense When You Write--that If You Can Spot Something In Yourself And Set It Down On Paper, You're Free Of It. And You're Not, Of Course; You've Just Managed To Set It Down On Paper, That's All.

The Empty Nest Is Underrated.

Working As A Journalist Is Exactly Like Being The Wallflower At An Orgy. I Always Seem To Find Myself At A Perfectly Wonderful Event Where Everyone Else Is Having A Marvelous Time, Laughing Merrily, Eating, Drinking, Having Sex In The Back Room, And I Am Standing On The Side Taking Notes On It All.

We Have A Game We Play When We’re Waiting For Tables In Restaurants, Where You Have To Write The Five Things That Describe Yourself On A Piece Of Paper. When I Was [in My Twenties], I Would Have Put: Ambitious, Wellesley Graduate, Daughter, Democrat, Single. Ten Years Later Not One Of Those Five Things Turned Up On My List. I Was: Journalist, Feminist, New Yorker, Divorced, Funny. Today Not One Of Those Five Things Turns Up In My List: Writer, Director, Mother, Sister, Happy.