![]() ![]() You came from that sunshine, and you may someday go back to it, but for now it is only a bitter taunt.īut: every afternoon we make hot chocolate, and my sons let me read Roald Dahl novels aloud in my terrible British accents. If you turn around and look back down the hall, there’s a sliding glass door to a sunny day. You cling to scraps of news, you eat random things at random times, you’re desperate for distraction but can’t really focus on anything. I’m not working in or admitted to a hospital, thank goodness, but these days remind me of hospital time. ![]() The train story is still there, though heavily revised. While I still worry that that is uncool, it is simply the country I live in now. ![]() I am partial to magical realism and obsessed with the dynamics of group membership: how much we need others to accomplish the task of being ourselves. Over the years, I’ve worked to hold on to the confidence while engaging in source material a little closer to home. I felt very glamorous and Fitzgeraldian, so I wrote with confidence (and considerable pretension). At the time, I had a fellowship that involved teaching in a British boarding school and travelling as much as I could with my small stipend. ![]() It’s about a train, the Eurostar essentially, who falls in love with a rider. The oldest story in this collection was drafted eighteen years ago, when I was a not terribly sensible 24-year-old. ![]()
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