“If the ink of my writing morphed into ants, would they march along with my thoughts? Would they find my work as enjoyable as a picnic? If the answer is no, I wouldn’t hesitate to stomp all over my writing.”
“I love working with my hands. My writing is rough, my paper bruised with ink stains.”
“Instead of singing in the shower, I would write out the lyrics of my favourite songs, the ink would turn the water blue or red or green, and the music would run down my legs.”
“And instead of singing in the shower I would write out the lyrics of my favorite songs, the ink would turn the water blue or red or green, and the music would run down my legs.”
“That was asking a lot of my readers, I realized, but I was trying to write the novel I would most enjoy decoding.”
“He, I was sure, would have all the answers, and these answers he would find in my vagina.”