Every writer of fiction wants to tell many stories, but we know that we can’t tell all the stories — certainly not simultaneously. We know we must pick one story, well, one central story; we have to be selective. The art of the writer is to find as much as one can in that story, in that sequence … in that time (the timeline of the story), in that space (the concrete geography of the story).
A novelist, then, is someone who takes you on a journey. Through space. Through time. A novelist leads the reader over a gap, makes something go where it was not.
Time exists in order that everything doesn’t happen all at once … and space exists so that it doesn’t all happen to you.
The work of the novelist is to enliven time, as it is to animate space.
“I’m just excited to get a new perspective on reality. Because that’s the cycle: collect, reflect.” There’s a long pause. “I’m still figuring it out and I’ll be figuring it out for the rest of my life. All I can do now is live.”