I was going to write my own comment, David, but yours touched on something important that happened to me as well. One hook for me was the sheer beauty and prowess of her writing. She laces these pictoral gems within the apparent simplicity of her style. I was entranced by it. I also had some life experience that made it easy to suspend m…
I was going to write my own comment, David, but yours touched on something important that happened to me as well. One hook for me was the sheer beauty and prowess of her writing. She laces these pictoral gems within the apparent simplicity of her style. I was entranced by it. I also had some life experience that made it easy to suspend my disbelief. I was walking behind a friend down the furrows of a date orchard. We were returning from hunting during an era when we could walk down our streets and into the open desert with our shotguns on our shoulders. Suddenly his weapon, which was angled back my way, went off. He accidentally pulled the trigger as he stumbled over a dirt clod. We were teens. We were irresponsible and likely high. He forgot to unload his gun and his finger was on the trigger. It could have been disasterous. It happened out of the blue. But the shot went into the trees over my head. So, yeah, that was where I went in that moment. An experience I hadn't thought of in years came rushing up out of my body and joined the tragedy playing out on the page. For me, that passage had remarkable heft in its stark suddenness.
Thank you for that story, Michael. It does seem that much of the time who lives and who dies is simply the luck of the draw—or fate, whatever that mysterious force is.
I was going to write my own comment, David, but yours touched on something important that happened to me as well. One hook for me was the sheer beauty and prowess of her writing. She laces these pictoral gems within the apparent simplicity of her style. I was entranced by it. I also had some life experience that made it easy to suspend my disbelief. I was walking behind a friend down the furrows of a date orchard. We were returning from hunting during an era when we could walk down our streets and into the open desert with our shotguns on our shoulders. Suddenly his weapon, which was angled back my way, went off. He accidentally pulled the trigger as he stumbled over a dirt clod. We were teens. We were irresponsible and likely high. He forgot to unload his gun and his finger was on the trigger. It could have been disasterous. It happened out of the blue. But the shot went into the trees over my head. So, yeah, that was where I went in that moment. An experience I hadn't thought of in years came rushing up out of my body and joined the tragedy playing out on the page. For me, that passage had remarkable heft in its stark suddenness.
Thank you for that story, Michael. It does seem that much of the time who lives and who dies is simply the luck of the draw—or fate, whatever that mysterious force is.