is full of lies. Not the stories; the stories are as true as I could make them when I wrote them, but the introductions. When I’m finished writing something, it leaves me; if I tell you anything about these stories, the chances are extremely good that I made it up when an editor or an interviewer asked me, months or years after I wrote the actual story, and now I misremember it as what I was thinking at the time, or it’s what I think of them now, reading them again at a distance in some cases of decades. The real truth is that only the stories themselves can tell you what I was thinking. If I
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