it feels like a thing my mind goes through when I’m drafting a scene, feeling my way frame by frame through a still image I see in my mind. That’s how I love to write. That’s how I love to see. It’s a form of omniscience, a slow, quiet knowing.

Deep into pandemic, I’m home making coffee and getting into a tub to heal myself from a recent surgery. I haven’t had to go to the hospital in thirty years (of my forty-three on this earth) but the moment the hospitals are overrun with the most catchy virus in one hundred years, I get a little cancer. C’est la vie.