“. . . when the fine hairs on my arms are standing and the air smells of ozone and my breath turns cold—these are the signs I’ve learned to recognize when there’s a great story in my presence. This may sound like a possession. It kind of is.”

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“Out of thirty-four form rejections, I have received a single personal one: the Hallmark card of literary rejections. The situation is bleak indeed when your spirits are buoyed by this.“

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