Words with the Dead

“At first when writing my novel, I kept trying to capture my mother’s love for her home, her wanderings, her childhood dreams and games, but as I wrote I knew I wasn’t getting it. That first vision of my mother in the cottonwood flurry was a vision from my own life, not hers, and I’ve had to accept that I don’t know enough about her childhood to write it with intimacy and innocence. I don’t know if she stood and stared at cotton in the sky, and the facts I do have are few and unblissful.”

View story at Medium.com

 

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