Better To Try And Fail

Getting A Book Published Made Me Feel A Little Bit Sad... I Felt Driven By The Need To Write A Book, Rather Than The Need To Write. I Needed To Figure Out What Was Important To Me As A Writer.

For Her I Changed Pebbles Into Diamonds, Shoes Into Mirrors, I Changed Glass Into Water, I Gave Her Wings And Pulled Birds From Her Ears And In Her Pockets She Found The Feathers, I Asked A Pear To Become A Pineapple, A Pineapple To Become A Lightbulb, A Lightbulb To Become The Moon, And The Moon To Become A Coin I Flipped For Her Love.

I Knew That To Find And To Feel Yoav Again Would Be Terribly Painful, Because Of What Had Become Of Him, And Because Of What I Knew He Could Ignite In Me, A Vitality That Was Excruciating Because Like A Flare It Lit Up The Emptiness Inside Me And Exposed What I Always Secretly Knew About Myself: How Much Time I'd Spent Being Only Partly Alive, And How Easily I'd Accepted A Lesser Life.

Sometimes, Waking Early Before The Others, Wandering The Rooms Wrapped In A Blanket Or Drinking My Tea In The Empty Kitchen, I Had That Most Rare Of Feelings, The Sense That The World, So Consistently Overwhelming And Incomprehensible, In Fact Has An Order, Oblique As It May Seem, And I A Place Within It.

I Am Always Coming Up With Architectural Metaphors When I Think About Writing. But I Think One Of The Things That Draw Us To Literature Is That It Gives Us This Very Attractive Illusion That There Is Meaning In The World - Things Connect.