Mary Miller’s Comments

“Every Day” is almost creative nonfiction except for a couple things. For one, my dad is a nice guy, and not a drunk. I’ve only seen him drink too much once in my life, when he went to an outdoor party one summer and there was a mishap with a margarita machine. And while it’s true he didn’t like Penny, I never saw him kick her. I also have no problem with my cousins. They’re perfectly nice girls. But the boy on his blue-green Honda was real and a lot of the other details are real as well (at least for me, they are). I still think about the boy on the Honda because it reminds me that I should go after what I want instead of all the time letting life pass me by. Of course, it was probably better that I didn’t pursue it—he was on drugs and rumored to be a small-animal killer. A walk with my dog inspired “Tilted,” but the narrator isn’t me. I hardly think anything is precious and my head seems to be of adequate size. When I wrote “Los Angeles” I must have been reading too many stories or something. It’s fiction. My manners, however, have been called into question on multiple occasions. I don’t think that the very small things people do for you, like handing you a lighter, deserve a “thank you.” I just can’t make myself part with two words for what seems like nothing.

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