A Literary and Arts Journal

I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see, and what it means. What I want and what I fear. Why did the oil refineries around the Carquinez Straits seem sinister to me in the summer of 1956? Why have the night lights in the bevatron burned in my mind for twenty years? What is going on in these pictures in my mind?

​

Joan Didion, Why I Write