By the age of twelve I can remember imagining that my life was a movie. Sometimes I would take several cuts of a simple course of events like jumping down from my bunk bed, moving around a chair, swooping a binder off of the desk, spinning and then opening the door until I did it just right. Then I would click off the camera in my head and think, “that was a good shot.”
Besides making me crazy, this sort of imagination created in me a sense of life as story. Still, I think this is really the only sort of life there is.
