Once upon a time, I told a story about myself. And maybe if I can make some of that story come true—Buzzard’s Neck, The Bend, whatever—I’ll be closer to writing a new one.   Much like how I’m finding younger heroines less relatable, I think I’ve also reached the point in my reading life where perfect/mostly perfect main characters are no longer that interesting to me.  True, the saintly, virginal, personifications of perfection that populated many of the books that blooded me (as the folks […]