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Write Anyway

“Mom, do you think in my life span we’ll ever meet an alien?” It’s early morning, the time when I write and then meditate, which probably brings to mind white honeycomb candles, a certain hushed peace. This is not always, or even often, the case. I’ve got a dog curled solid on my lap, serving

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Not Enough Books

I have active library cards in four counties. Last week, if you’d wandered into the Sebastopol Branch of the Sonoma County Library, you would have found me kneeling as if in prayer before the junior graphic novels section, searching not my heart but the shelves as earnestly as any pilgrim. My kids are obsessed with

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How to Kill Your Darlings without Killing Your Loved Ones

We came home and exploded across the house—library manga, art supplies, laundry, dishes, groceries, leftover bits of food, the dog’s disintegrating toy. I thought entropy was the move toward disorder, the necessary unraveling, though in All the Light We Cannot See it’s given just as a measure of disorder’s degree. Each item overwhelms me. Scotch

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