In the wake of her mother’s death, eighteen-year-old Claire Bidwell Smith goes traveling in Europe.

You wouldn’t think this would be so hard since you spend so much of the day home alone talking to yourself.

That’s true. I, we rather, have had plenty of practice.

So on with it then. What’s new?

The cereal kick I suppose, but you already knew that. I’m going on like three months of this bizarre cereal kick. In fact…I’ll be back in five…

- Half an hour later -

That was longer than five minutes.

Sorry. I have Cowboys and Aliens On Demand. Anyway, yeah, the cereal kick. I’ve been going at it hard for a while now. Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. Honey Bunches of Oats with Raisins. Frosted Cheerios. Mixing and matching. I’ve been trying to cut back as of late, half-bowling it and such. I have an addictive personality and a man can only push his luck so far.

What else is happening in your life? I mean, besides cereal?

The book is happening I suppose. I mean it is happening. It’s a short story collection entitled Fires of Our Choosing.

Is The Rules of Inheritance about how you inherited a bunch of money and acted like a Kardashian?

Sadly, no. It’s more depressing, gritty and uplifting than that. Both of my parents got cancer when I was fourteen. My mother died when I was eighteen and my father when I was twenty-five. I’m an only child and these losses left me very much alone in the world, and going through something that none of my peers had really experienced. The book is kind of a coming-of-age story. It follows me through cities like New York, Los Angeles and Chicago, through various relationships I cultivated with men and with alcohol. It’s definitely a grief memoir, but it’s also a lot more than that. You don’t have to have lost someone to relate to someone who is trying to figure themselves out and fucking up a lot along the way.

Aren’t you kind of embarrassed to publish a memoir?

For a long time the word memoir really made me cringe. When people asked what I was working on, I would go to great lengths to avoid that word. I’m actually a big fan of memoirs, but there can be something really trite and embarrassing about them, especially given our culture’s obsession with the intimate details of other people’s lives.

Hi. Are you ready for our interview?

You again. Seems like every time I turn around, I run into you.

Guess I’m the omniscient narrative voice in your head.

Ha ha.

Hey, I have the credentials to ask you questions—seeing as how I was a reporter for seventeen years and all that.

I liked you better when you turned your gaze outward.

Why do you find it so hard to talk about yourself? I’d think after all these years of being a published writer, it would get easier.

I agreed to being interviewed. Not psychoanalyzed.

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