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What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?

What about writers who come suddenly into full power late in life?

The onus is on you, because you care about your car and your life.

Across sage flats, tundra, and bleeding hearts, she escapes.

I never actually existed. I didn’t know it at the time, but it’s clear as day.

Lydda, when she closes her eyes, has traded one war zone for another.

I was opposed to the taking of human life. I was opposed to all war.

The light is like a benediction. My husband reaches for my hand.

Best-selling author Melanie Gideon reads from her novel Wife 22.

Dad is catnip to the lady residents. He’s tall and lean, plus he’s got all his hair.

I feel unnatural, half a human face smothered in deep light.

He begrudged how money poured through her hands like water.

“When we heard the horn, we left—our faces wet—not looking back.”

He never stopped reminding me that I was born in Harmony, Georgia.

The world smells brand-new crisp the way an ax cuts fire wood.

A rumour went round that the Australians had bulletproof clothing.

Our eyes searched for the island, but ahead there was only overcast.

Not the Olympics, the guard said. Just chuck yourself down the tube.

Her cheek was like a plum about to burst and you had to close your eyes.

She was painting a bedroom, trying to be a good mother, wife, Catholic.

“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”