How far do you need to go to find yourself? What do you have to give up?
Daphne didn't go very far. After too many years of living as a writer who didn't write, she gave up her life in London to spend 100 days of solitude on the remote Greek island of Sifnos, off season, and find out, once and for all, who she really was. Her challenge: to write every day.
One hundred days and one hundred entries later, her question had been answered in more ways than she could have imagined, and the things she'd given up never mattered in the first place. This book is her story, as personal as it is...
How far do you need to go to find yourself? What do you have to give up?
Daphne didn't go very far. After too many years of living as a writer w...
There are certain things that time cannot touch. Very few. Metal it turns to rust and bones to dust and the souls of those we've loved into ghosts and memories. Ancient temples fall to ruin and gods fall from grace, and people fall out of love and forget. Very few things can withstand the passage of time, its ruthless continuity, always moving on, always leaving moments behind, but in Anna's short lifetime there was one thing that did. Was it hubris to wrench apart what destiny had conspired to unite? Could there be atonement for such a thing? This story begins at the end of a thing that...
There are certain things that time cannot touch. Very few. Metal it turns to rust and bones to dust and the souls of those we've loved into ghosts and...
If there's a theme tying these pieces together, perhaps it's identity, our constant quest for one that fits; that keeps fitting even as we change. We are scattered, like our stories, forever torn between people and places; we are all of us pulled this way and that by the different parts of our identities that don't necessarily fit together, at first glance, but still come together to make a whole. Perhaps, for me, writing is the thread I use to keep it from splitting apart.
There are other themes, too: there is death and there is love (what else?), and the fear and the uncertainty that...
If there's a theme tying these pieces together, perhaps it's identity, our constant quest for one that fits; that keeps fitting even as we change. ...
I am not an immigrant tonight. Tonight, I am a resident of the United Kingdom. But tomorrow: what?
We are privileged, and we cannot conceive of a world where our right to live the lives we've built, where we've built them, could be challenged or taken away. But that is the world we live in, and it happens every day. Those refugees washing up on our borders and terrifying us: what do we think happened to them? They had lives, too, that they took for granted, in places they called home. They had rights that were snatched away. And here they are now, at our borders: unwanted, and wanting...
I am not an immigrant tonight. Tonight, I am a resident of the United Kingdom. But tomorrow: what?
Don't let the title fool you: this isn't a morbid book. It's a collection of stories about death and dying, yes, but death isn't morbid in itself. Death is a fact, sudden or sad, tragic or inevitable, and it can leave us bereft - but it isn't morbid. Our perception of it often is. But it doesn't have to be.
This is a collection of seven stories about death and dying, five of them new to this book and two published before, in another collection. They're a little about how we deal with death, the fact of it, and how we can never be prepared, no matter how much advance notice we have....
Don't let the title fool you: this isn't a morbid book. It's a collection of stories about death and dying, yes, but death isn't morbid in itself. ...
