I will never sit on a panel at a writer’s festival and say that the act of writing is anything but spiritual.
When I think about that day, I often think about those people. I think about how it must feel to stand on the periphery of someone else’s terror and then get in your car and drive home.
This post is for paying subscribers only
Unlock access and see the entire library of paid-members only posts.
Sign up now
Already a member? Sign in