Alice Adams wrote a sweet note to me after my first novel came out when I was 26, and I was so blown away that I sent her a bunch of stamps by return mail. I have no idea what I was thinking. It was a star-struck impulse.
I never think of myself as lumbering, but I guess I am. I forget how huge I am sometimes. I've seen movies where I'm with a group of people, and I'm like, 'God, I'm just so gargantuanly bigger than anyone else there.'
It seems that when you have cancer you are a brave battler against the disease, but when you have Alzheimer's you are an old fart. That's how people see you. It makes you feel quite alone.
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