I have a hard time trusting people who don't like fiction (or chocolate). It is our stories that give life meaning. My friend Barb, a writer, says that fiction is more honest than facts. I know exactly what she means.
Occasionally, I run across a writer who taps into the human experience in a way that reveals some rich truth. Lately I have been reading Elizabeth Berg. Today I read these words:
"...this was the way we all lived: full to the brim with gratitude and joy one day, wrecked on the rocks the next. Finding the balance between the two was the art and the salvation."
Why didn't I say that?
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