Sometimes, because I also study writing, I feel encumbered by the need for explanations. The need to explain how my writing works. To justify what I’m doing. Why all this talk about deathbeds or lack of deathbeds and trees falling?
This need for explanation is not a real need — one of the perks of creative writing is that you never have to explain yourself.
Still. Permit me just this one explanation.
I have said that this isn’t my story and I have said that I’m trying to say more than my story. More than. But maybe this isn’t clear.
What I mean is…that I am trying to illustrate a way that things could happen more than I’m trying to tell you what happened. I’m trying to say: This is how people start to feel isolated. No — this is one way people could feel isolated. This is one way people could fall through the cracks. These are some of the cracks. Here they are.
What I mean is…that I’m trying to promote a way of looking, a way of seeing, more than I’m trying to tell you how things looked. I’m trying to say that when a tree falls, lonely, it does fall. And with sound. Look. Here are some hints, some traces of the fall. Listen. Some aftershocks. Here are some places you could find these hints and aftershocks, if you’re looking for your own. Here is a way you could look for your own.
So. Now that I’ve explained myself and given you my hints and told you how I found them, can we be done with this part? We need no more particulars, no more descriptions of how things looked — no more narrative of what happened. No deathbed scene. Right?
No? It isn’t enough? Everybody knows it isn’t enough? Everybody knows we need to hear the last words?
I will tell you the story.
Fine fine fine fine fine fine fine fine fine.
I will take you to the deathbed. I wasn’t there. But I know what happened and I will tell you the true story of how: