Nature repulsed her in myriad ways—psychological and visceral assaults. She needed to be harangued and harassed—everyday and in every way. Her Sisyphean rock would be the nocturnal infrared world she sensed in the water. She would remain in Maine forevermore. She took up residence with a sea urchin in a tide pool. She waited for night to fall.
“I wasn’t convinced that a workshop full of 13 other young writers trying to find their voices was the best place for me to find my voice.”
— Elizabeth Gilbert / “Thoughts on Writing”