April 23, 2016
I traveled down to Monroe Harbor to write. It was summer 1988, and I lived in Chicago. Listening to the boats clank, I lay on the slope above Lake Michigan. I pulled out the script of Ceremonies. It was the last draft upon which I had worked. I had not looked at it in a few years. I had gotten lost in another manuscript. The new book was about the draft resistance during the Vietnam War. Suddenly I realized that I had to let go of the structure for Ceremonies, the one I loved so much. It had to be chronological. I stuck the script back in my bag.