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with Death Reviews
A writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is. When I speak of writing, the image that comes first to my mind is not a novel, a poem, or a literary tradition; it is the person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and, alone, turns inward. Amid his shadows, he builds a new world with words. This man-or this woman-may use a typewriter, or profit from the ease of a computer, or write with a pen on paper, as I do. As he writes, he may drink tea or coffee, or smoke cigarettes. From time to time, he may rise from his table to look out the window at the children playing in the street, or, if he is lucky, at trees and a view, or even at a black wall. He may write poems, or plays, or novels, as I do. But all these differences arise only after the crucial task is complete-after he has sat down at the table and patiently turned inward. To write is to transform that inward gaze into words, to study the worlds into which we pass when we retire into ourselves, and to do so with patience, obstinacy, and joy.
Winged with Death Virtual Tour – 11
Today I’m in New York, at Kathleen Maher’s blog, Diary of a Heretic.
Kathleen has been reading Winged with Death for the last couple of weeks. She has published her review of the novel on the site.
Kathleen has also published an interview with me on The View From Here, the print and on-line literary magazine edited by Mike French.
You can visit both sites by clicking the links above, and joining stage 11 of the virtual tour for Winged with Death.