This small book would not have survived if not for the scholars/professors/lecturers who taught, and continue to teach, it in their classes, in colleges/universities/high schools (excerpts, though I’ve been told that it’s passed around stealthily among high schoolers). It is because of these teachers that the R’s, well, keep rolling. But I also want to blame these beautiful peeps for my high anxiety to produce a second novel that is as risk-taking, out of the box, and transgressive. Rolling is my personal bar; it is the book I continue to write against. As a writer, it is my first home, the source I often return to when I need to escape the secondary and tertiary concerns of a writer (getting next book written, sold, reviewed, blahblahblah). Rolling never fails to remind me why I have embraced this curse/gift/ventilator.