"Third-person singular, past tense, is most natural and inevitable, I guess. But you’d best beware the monotone in it and the temptations toward false wisdom, cleverness. First person is where you can be more interesting as a fool, and I find this often leads to the more delightful expedition. You don’t have to be much but a stumbling fool. The wisdom there is more precious than in the sage overview, which in many writers makes me nearly puke. I’m also wary of the glibness that third person invites."

Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 184, Barry Hannah

Good reads: "Water Liars," by Barry Hannah →

We tell lies to hide ourselves from the pain of the truth. This short story starts out slow, but comes to a boil by the end to punch the reader in the gut.

Last year I turned thirty-three years old and, raised a Baptist, I had a sense of being Jesus and coming to something decided in my life—because we all know Jesus was crucified at thirty-three. It had all seemed especially important, what you do in this year, and holy with meaning.

Hannah’s narrator is, on one hand, perfectly ordinary, but on the other hand he stumbles into something profound.