'My one writerly habit was describing everything I did, no matter how absorbing or how trivial, as if I were standing outside myself and watching. That is, I would get up in the morning and look out the window, all the time thinking, “She slid from the rumpled bed, yawned, and looked out at the pale . . . no, thin winter light. It was going to be another one of those days. . . .” That kind of thing; very corny.'