I have no real memory of not hoping to be a writer as soon as I understood that books were not grown from orchards of papery trees, it was what I wanted. The book that made me want to be a writer Toni Morrison’s Beloved gets my vote for the true great American novel I had not believed, until then, that footnotes could be so funny that technical innovation could be such a source of joy. He was transformative: sexy, funny, wildly strange, galvanic in his refusal to bring anything less than his full intelligence to his days.
So many of the visions of sex and desire we were offered felt bewildering to me in their restrictive thinness. I fell in love with John Donne’s poetry as a teen.
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