It's Finished. Everything Went Past, Without Me.

She Looks Like Someone I Want To Know, Or Maybe Even Be.

At Night, The House Thick With Sleep, She Would Peer Out Her Bedroom Window At The Trees And Sky And Feel The Presence Of A Mystery. Some Possibility That Included Her--separate From Her Present Life And Without Its Limitations. A Secret. Riding In The Car With Her Father, She Would Look Out At Other Cars Full Of People She'd Never Seen, Any One Of Whom She Might Someday Meet And Love, And Would Feel The World Holding Her Making Its Secret Plans.

So I Feel That Lack Of Qualification. And I'm Scared. And I Have A Tendency To Think Things May Not/probably Won't Work Out. That's My Basic Mindset.

There's Something Very Strange About Associating Me With That Prize. I Had Hoped For It In A More Directed Way As A Journalist. Somehow As A Journalist You Know There Are Pulitzers Out There And You Can Work Hard And Get One. To Win It For Fiction Seems Unbelievable.

Kathy Was A Republican, One Of Those People Who Used The Unforgivable Phrase "meant To Be"--usually When Describing Her Own Good Fortune Or The Disasters That Had Befallen Other People.