Where Am I Now?: True Stories of Girlhood and Accidental Fame

by Mara Wilson

If there’s been a narrative theme in my life, it has been a need to find a narrative in everything.

The only thing more powerful than sex was refusing to let sex have power over you.

Boys liked pretty, nice girls, and I was awkward and angry.

Being a feminist meant standing up for myself, having the right to live as I wanted, without a man—the proverbial “Man,” or Twentieth Century Fox—deciding my value.

When a person is gone, all that’s left is a narrative. At some point, that narrative becomes myth. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s letting our mother’s death overshadow her life.

I hadn’t been a good student for years. I got distracted by my own thoughts, and gave up too readily.

“Honestly, with our genetic history, it’s kind of impressive you’re only neurotic.”

Everyone’s afraid of something, but talking about fear takes away its power.

But we agreed on what was important, like racism being bad and Harry Potter being great.

I tried to write, but it felt daunting. It took way too much effort to rise above the sinking feeling inside me at all times, let alone actually get something down on paper.

I generally assumed a guy was gay until proven straight, taken until proven single, and not interested until he’d put his tongue in my mouth.

In Los Angeles, I had felt judged. In New York, I felt ignored.