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I was a young female who wrote magical realism, and he was expecting pink powdery puffs of sentences, of lightness, of beauty.

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I never expected to fall in love with my best friend, but I’m so glad I did.

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I received a .22 caliber rifle when I was 10. No one ever questioned selling me ammunition or seeing me walking along a road, blazing away at everything in sight.

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She hates me now, or at least seems to.