Sometimes No Length Of String

I Know There Is A Moral To This Story, But I Don't Know What It Is.

For Me, The Most Powerful Way To Write About Something Is Through The Absence Of It. Rather Than Writing About What It Was To Become A New Mother, I Wrote, For Example, A Father Facing Death And Addressing His Estranged Son About The Regrets Of His Relationship.

The More Freedom I Allow Myself As A Writer To Wander, Become Lost And Go Into Uncertain Territory - And I Am Always Trying To Go To The More Awkward Place, The More Difficult Place - The More Frightening It Is, Because I Have No Plan.

That Powers My Desire To Write: The Sense Of How Quickly Everything On The Surface Of Life Can Be Cut Away And You Can Suddenly Be Inside The Most Inner Part Of The Most Inner Life Of A Person. What Does It Feel Like There, And What Are The Regrets And Sensations And Longings, And What Is The Music Of It?

I Forced Myself To Picture The Last Moments. The Penultimate Breath. A Final Sigh. And Yet. It Was Always Followed By Another.