New writing: Mirrors.

I'm on the Paris Review blog.

For the Paris Review website, I wrote a short essay about not owning a full length mirror, which is also, I guess, a meditation on the feeling sometimes that there’s Another You that would be better at all this:

My thirty-fourth year was meant to be a winner. I would drink less, I would eat better, I would write my book proposal, I would walk ten miles every day, I would go to the theater, I would get a job, I would read more books and watch more movies. I would, in short, live up to my potential. All my life I’ve seen out of the corner of my eye the other me, the one who rises early, sleeps well, spends responsibly, works hard, shines with a humble yet unmistakable brilliance, and never lets anybody down, the bitch. Well, no longer.

I called my other me “Alice,” which dates back to an interaction I had in high school where I thought I was supposed to introduce myself using a fake name. So I said “I’m Alice,” and the tone of voice in which the person talking to me said “no you’re not” i…