I’m interested only in a narrative presence that is indelible. Writing that is beyond memorable. Unforgettable.
Dinner gets done. Books get abandoned, bungled, finished, finally published, and ultimately forgotten.
Now I can’t decide if the story is worth rewriting, rethinking, or tossing into the burn barrel.
My skin tingled. I had my mother’s undivided attention. I was radiating, humming with bliss.
Instead of managing the deluge of emails and envelopes with the grace of the professional, I was crushed by them.
