Anyone who read my column last week knows how devastated I was to find out someone I used to be close to had been killed eight years ago, and I’d only just found out last week.
I’ve spent the last week and a half processing this. I’m a writer – that’s what we do. Now I am starting to emerge on the far side.
I want to thank my friends and family for rallying around me, and I want to acknowledge the pain of those who were much closer to Damon than I, and who lost so much more with his passing.
I’m not sure what form my own pain and shock will ultimately take. I do know it will end up being reflected in my writing at some point.
It’s not just this one thing, though it shook me to my core.We seem to be living in a world that has gone mad, with senseless murder, fear of global annihilation, and a twisting of the language and the truth so profound and unashamed that it would have done George Orwell proud.
“Stable genius,” indeed.
When everything seems to crash at once, what do you do? You pick up the pieces and move on.
I am doing the only thing I can. I am moving forward. I am back to working on “Ithani,” which I had set aside this last week. I am slowly digging myself out of the strange emotional pit I found myself in. And I am allowing myself to have some hope for the future.
I take a deep breath and step tentatively into the future, hoping it will bring something brighter than what has come before.