She is one of this nation’s most prolific writers. Most of her works have been on the top ten lists, unmatched with praise and lauded by all her peers. She lives a solitary life away from the rushing masses, while her writing disturbs them—you love her, you hate her, you read her and a giant fork stirs inside the abdomen—you can sense a shift. Her life is the product of much conjecture, a scrim of mystery: what is known is that she was orphaned and been in and out of psychiatric institutions for eating disorders. An unbearable child, she developed a taste for eating paper in little tiny ripped pieces, she sat tasting the pulp of tree carnage, buzzing down hills, an electric shaver moving through long hair exposing pale scalp. She tasted, letting the printed ink dissolve in her saliva; she was digesting words, sentences, paragraphs, chapter after chapter, so much to swallow in little tiny ripped pieces. During an interview taped for television, the audience could see her swishing pulp, a connoisseur tasting wine gently on the palette for all its complex delicacies of earth’s rich soil. Her skin was seemingly paper thin, reflecting a white luminosity that revealed tiny little blue green capillaries beneath. Those lucky enough to have met her attested that her touch would bring forth a deep emotion—warm, soft, vulnerable—and they often had to excuse themselves to experience catharsis of uncontrolled sobbing, To shift. Questions were always the same: “When is your next book coming out?” “Can you give us a peek?” “Tell us about your process.” The same, locked in cycle of hamster Habitrail, clueless of it’s center in the universe, always the same—of these, she had no thought. Now quiet time, she sits at her desk—no phone, computer, typewriter, pen or paper. She moves, cat-like, pulls her head back, wide-eyed, opening her mouth, coughing, gagging, heaving, straining her whole self in harsh regurgitation. Her face is lined with tears of great discomfort. Pains pass. Here on her desk in front of her with her is her next manuscript, covered in translucent shiny warm wet saliva, the next bestseller: Tiny Little Pieces.