August 21, 2014
When I first read drafts of your book, you were still thinking of a title. Rollercoaster. “Terrible title,” you said. Dyke Aching. You sent it through Google Docs and I chatted with you. After a break, you were writing again and it was feeling good, raw. New.
Sometimes when we talk it’s like neurons synapsing – we’re going through texts, emails, voice messages, Skype, Google Docs.
“Love it. I love when Finn says ‘I’m a small little animal?’”
“Here’s a link to this John Prine song.”
“I’m drinking a beer with my melatonin.”
“I so suck at letting things go.”