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Thursday, September 23, 2010

Why I Don't Write

I don't write because I could never write as well as, for example, Ann Patchett.  A good example is the following excerpt from her book Run in which a priest wonders whether there is no afterlife after all.

"Father Sullivan hoped to elevate the present to a state of the divine.  It seemed from this moment of repose that God may well have been life itself.  ... How wrongheaded it seemed now to think that the thrill of heartbeat and breath were just a stepping stone to something greater.  What could be greater than the armchair, the window, the snow?  Life itself had been holy.  We had been brought forth from nothing to see the face of God and in his life Father Sullivan had seen it miraculously for eighty-eight years.  Why wouldn't it stand to reason that this had been the whole of existence and now he would retreat back to the nothingness he had come from in order to let someone else have their turn at the view?  ... What a shame it would have been to miss God while waiting for Him."

The book is highly recommended!

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