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Susan “died” at 10:46 p.m. I ended the story of their friendship at 10:55 p.m. About then, I heard Linda come downstairs. She comes to the basement. I look up: “I just finished. Do you want to hear the ending?” “Yes.” I read it. “Perfect,” she says. “It’s moving & perfect.”

Writing books is a miraculous process–it’s so hard & then so easy, or so it seems.

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