There are things I’ll never learn. How ideas come, like Star Wars or Star Trek or Indiana, world changing ones which make the writing of fiction harder. How to change style so that it’s not a stunted jump to uncomfortable collars, elastic and patent white, but an enjoyable slitted fit, a confident maker. What E equals. Who Snooki is. What it takes to fill you.
And I don’t see yet, but we are not the story I think we are. I’m the penultimate, necessary, gift receipted, and my own undoing. I’m that girl before Juliet.