I wondered how to write about sexuality.  It was a few weeks later.  I was lying on the bed in my room.  Summer light filtered through the window.  I had read Henry Miller and D.H. Lawrence, both wonderful writers.  But I felt the former was gross and the latter was class-bound.  How could I write about what happened between men and women naturally?

I also wondered about what to write.  It was a subject mostly censored.  Aside from Miller and Lawrence, the only ones I knew who had explored this were writers of pornography.   I thought their work was dull, what little I had read.  Would I write only about lovemaking itself?

Finally, I wondered what form the book would take?

I sat up, snatched a paper and pen and began to write a scene about a girl named Marthe.  She was imaginary.