I Have A Painter's Memory. I Can

It Was Hard To Reassure Grown-ups When You Weren't Certain Yourself What You Were Feeling And Thinking—when Thoughts Dissolved Before You Could Name Them.

Words Are Nets Through Which All Truth Escapes.

I Have A Painter's Memory. I Can Remember Things From My Childhood Which Were So Powerfully Imprinted On Me, The Whole Scene Comes Back.

My Life Was Incoherent To Me. I Felt It Quivering, Spitting Out Broken Teeth.

I Don't Know What Makes A Writer's Voice. It's Dozens Of Things. There Are People Who Write Who Don't Have It. They're Tone-deaf, Even Though They're Very Fluent. It's An Ability, Like Anything Else, Being A Doctor Or A Veterinarian, Or A Musician.