The Truth Is, I Wrote A Novel

When You Spin A Globe And Point To A City And Actually Go To That City, You Build An Allowance Of Missed Opportunities On The Back End.

I Was Taught That Candles Are Like House Cats - Domesticated Versions Of Something Wild And Dangerous. There's No Way To Know How Much Of That Killer Instinct Lurks In The Darkness. I Used To Think The House-burning Paranoia Was The Result Of Some Upper-middle-class Fear Regarding The Potential Destruction Of A Half-million-dollar Westchester House The Size Of A Matchbox. But Then I Realized The Fear Stemmed From Something Far Less Complex: We're Not Used To Fire. Candles Are A Staple Of The Judaic Existence And, Like Many Suburban Residents Before Us, We're Pretty Bad Jews.

The Children Were Overwhelmingly Morbid. Not A Single Adult Asked Me Where Butterflies Go When They Die, But This Question Was More Popular Than Pixie Sticks With The Under-four-foot Set. I Cursed Parents For Not Preparing Their Children. When I Was Five, My Mother And Sister Sat Me Up On The Kitchen Counter And Explained The Facts Of Life: The Easter Bunny Didn't Exist, Elijah Was God's Invisible Friend, With Any Luck Nana Would Die Soon, And If I Ever Saw A Unicorn, I Should Kill It Or Catch It For Cash. I Turned Out Okay.

In Every Woman's Wardrobe, There Are Certain Accessories That Cannot Be Separated From Their Back Stories.

In New York And La, There Is Sort Of That Silent Competition To Be On The Cutting Edge Of Something.