She's alone without yet having admitted to herself that she's alone, and unconsciously she's turning the furniture (and the animals, tame and wild) in her home into a kind of company, and the rituals of her daily routine into quiet theatre.
With these new crime stories, I may have been responding in part to the darkness that was descending (at least until a few weeks ago) over the national political landscape. I've also struggled personally for a long time with a sense that the world is a dark place, and maybe I was just ready to try writing about that.
I lived in Texas only until I was six, and for the most part I don't have an accent anymore, but Texan is probably still the language my operating system is written in. A certain kind of talk is highly valued in Texas. It's hard to characterize. Intelligent without being marked as intellectual.
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