The beginning of the short story is the hardest part to write. Casual, intimate, grandly sweeping, austere, arresting, or delicately simple, it must have an iron grip. It convinces you. It seduces and provokes infidelity. You will be untrue to the four walls of your room, the weather outside, the city or field, supper bubbling on the stove. You will give up everything—the armchair, your lover, your children—and step through, briefly but absolutely gone.
From Lisa Moore, “Introduction: Getting Away With It” in The Penguin Book of Contemporary Women’s Short Stories (2006).