Life Imitates Art. Or Art Imitates Life. I Can Never Remember.

I always think about life through the eyes of a reader. The events unfolding in a book. The difference though is that books climax and end. They usually resolve in a series of gloriously serendipitous moments that leave the reader feeling joyful and satisfied. I think readers feel especially pleased at resolution because life rarely brings that resolve. That full circle. Complete and still and impenetrable. So I think sometimes about my life as a book. And the problems are clear. Always. The antagonists evident. And still at other times I feel so delighted. So fulfilled. So peaceful. That I wish I could end my book right in that very moment. That's how I feel tonight.

But I'm still looking forward to the sequel.