She tears the crust from a rounded slice of bread, begins nibbling on crumbs. She is having a war with herself, trying to decide whether to continue with the fabrication, or admit the truth.
Like all dreams, it's hard to know exactly when this one started. Maybe it was the day way way back in April of 1985 when I walked away from a plum job as a staff reporter for The Wall Street Journal in New York, pushing my infant daughter Jocelyn in her carriage.
It is indeed a mystery and a marvel that fiction writers can fool their readers into believing in what they write. And it isn't only geography that we novelists can "fake."
Galvarez pushed the piece of paper across the table. "If your guitarist is anywhere in or around Granada, he can't hide from these folks for long," Galvarez said.
Photographer Dawn Tejam Diaz, who lives in the Philipines, took this amazing photograph in a park after a rain storm, on March 7, 2011. (The photo a...
Ronda completes dialing the first number and a woman answers and mumbles something that Ronda doesn't understand. "Buenos días, señora," Ronda begins slowly. "Conoce usted Jesús Becerra?" The woman cannot speak a word of English.
We can't help reveling in the glamor of royalty. We can't help our collective fascination with fairy-tale weddings. I remember feeling the same as a reporter back in 1981.
