hope believe that writers don’t write with eternity in their minds. I don’t. I just write. Despite all that, I was recently confronted with a situation of past becoming present due to material published long ago.
The story is simple. The person I am ghostwriting about lost his own father when he was only 17 months. His father was 33 years old. Despite the fact he barely attended school, that man was an artist in the true sense of the word. He was a skilful wood crafter, a poet and a doodler. He used his graphic skills to conceive puzzles, mysteries and crosswords for a magazine closed circa 1953.
Writing about that is one thing, receiving that material from a friend I asked to investigate is another. The moment I am penning these words, his son has not yet received my e-mail with the pictures I got from that nice friend of mine. Yet, I can hardly sleep with anticipation. If I am so moved by the finding, just imagine his son!
Consequently, I have something to say: maybe we don’t write with eternity in mind, however, eternity, sooner or later, will mind about a few of us…