Ree, brunette and sixteen, with milk skin and abrupt green eyes, stood bare-armed in a fluttering yellowed dress, face to the wind, her cheeks reddening as if smacked and smacked again.
When I left Iowa, I definitely never wanted to stand in front of a group of academics again and see if they approved of me. I made up my mind to take my work to the actual reading public.
I always loved the verve and vivacity of pulp and I kind of merged it with my own interest in family stories.
I, myself, often wished to be spared the expectation of better days ahead or such.
