"Still, like water, I remember where I was before I straightened out.”

No matter how “fictonal” the account of these writers, or how much it was a product of invention, the act of imagination is bound with memory. You know, they straightened out the Mississippi River in places, to make room for houses and livable acreage. Occassionally the river floods these places. “Floods” is the word they use, but in fact it is not flooding; it is remembering. Remembering where it used to be. All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was. Writers are like that: remembering where we were, what valley we ran through, what the banks were like, the light that was there and the route back to our original place. It is emotional memory—what the nerves as the skin remember as well as how it appeared. And a rush of imagination is our “flooding.”

-Inventing the Truth, 198-9.