When I was little, scrawling away, people would always come up behind me and ask, “What are you writing?” And I always wanted to answer that it was none of their business, even though that was rude and I knew it.
Now, when people ask me, I always want to tell them stories I’ve made up around fragments of truth. You’re smart enough to pick and choose what really happened, right? “Once upon a time, there was a little queen in an apartment that was always dark in the evenings. She didn’t turn on the lights because if she did, water poured out of them all heavy and yellow. Everything was prettier in the dim light anyway. Old things look better when it’s not so harsh. She kept it dark and quiet. You’d have to follow your instincts to get to her.”
Sometimes, it’s just easier to tell…
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