I drove my new convertible into a granite wall, not my finest hour, unintentional. It’s not the way I go.

A James Dean tattoo would be an appropriate marker of this moment, airbags exploding like the fourth of July, body numb, immediate fingertips to teeth to check that they were still in tact. Heart sorry, I am grateful that nobody was hurt and that my body soon let the shock go.

My fingertips move through the final edit of The Bardo Retreat with hesitation and grace, making sure that the novel delivers my wildest moments with clarity and poise. The walls we build, us emotional stonemasons, fall apart little by little. And sometimes we smash through them, heart on the accelerator, because we are ready to live free.. .