When you are in the middle of a story it isnt a story at all, but
only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered
glass and splintered wood, like a house in a whirlwind, or else a boat
crushed by the icebergs or swept over the rapids, and all aboard
powerless to stop it.  Its only afterwards that it becomes anything
like a story at all.  When you are telling it, to yourself or to
someone else.
		-- Margaret Atwood, "Alias Grace"