“ All writers are waiting for replies. That’s what I’ve learned. Maybe all human beings are ”
Writing is a sickness only cured by writing.
~ Niall Williams
It is what writers do, imagine and feel the pain of others, sometimes at the expense of feeling their own. Here, then, in these pages is mine, the fear of death, of loss, of unexpressed love. Here is the truth told in a story. And in the telling of it perhaps I have found some way to have courage, to believe.
Men are private. This I have learned. They are whole continents of privacy, you can only go to the borders, you can look in but you cannot enter.
The parts of our lives when we write them down seem to belong in different books, by different writers even. What all these bits and pieces make up I don't know. There is no plot. Perhaps meaning is something we invent afterward, putting it all together, like imagined God.
