When I write something, I’m experiencing and reliving my own losses. In Dust Unto Shadow by the end of writing I felt like I’d survived a terrible death.
The summer when I was eight, I danced and sang for my Grandmother, flinging a camellia with its leaves, at the end of my performance. That summer would be the last one we would spend together and it seemed cloaked in romance,
The story begins with a classic homespun adventure- we drive to California to reunite with the one who gave me life on my birthday. Back home, we are in “Crown of the Valley” Pasadena, California.
Sometimes, with a nervous mannerism, he reminds me of actor Gene Wilder, delivering a mad spark that explodes into manic hilarity. But it’s his Yiddish that hurls me onto the floor, although I don’t understand a word, it sounds like he’s either coughing or spitting in your face, and the audience cackles from his animation.