Re-entering the mind space of a novel

The blizzard's here. Thick snow. Blowing wind. I'm not sure what this day will bring, and so I make a quick stop at this blog from the office depicted above. Way, way back, past the masks, on the shelf, is the only framed photo of me in this house, taken by my brother during the National Book Awards dinner of 1998. It gives me hope sometimes.



I mentioned yesterday that a bungled transition (once identified) can give an author a new lease on her own book—a new way in. Yesterday I entere...