“I hunt only for food. But, so do wolves—and my yard is a pantry. The chickens. The rabbits. The dog. Me.”
The silent retreat gives us all time away from the bewilderment we tend to experience around American holidays.
“I grew up with the specter of death all around me.”
“When your husband is dying and your child is on the cusp of forming actual memories, nothing in the world makes sense.”
“The problem with writing about my anxiety is that I want it to be a closed narrative.”
I do not feel that I choose the fear so much as it chooses me.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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