Sunday, September 19, 2004


I don't always have something to say, and most of what comes out has little importance, but this weekend more than once, I found myself glancing away from my book to think about my own childhood experiences and how I would like to write about them. About the things that I would change if I could, how I have improved the things that I couldn't change, and what I vow to do differently for my own brood someday. I have put maybe a little too much thought into what I would say, especially considering the dustcover would read "Bright little white girl grows up in a middle class family in a nice suburb with her married parents. A novel about retrospect." Who would read that?! I had a happy childhood. I wasn't battered or beaten, let down or ignored. I have never been a hooker, or even be married to a celebrity. What interest would my life be to anyone? But still, I feel compelled to write. Don't be surprised if I show up someday with a manuscript and am begging all of you to proofread for me.

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