“In the end, writing is like a prison, an island from which you will never be released but which is a kind of paradise: the solitude, the thoughts, the incredible joy of putting into words the essence of what you for the moment understand and with your whole heart want to believe.”
I didn’t mean to write about him, even think about him. —He was a hero of mine until I came to realize some things: what I really liked was the prose. Some of it just breathtaking. It was not about the plot or the story. And he died too late to circumvent the last novel. I don’t know if the prose came to life further into All That Is, I turned away before I could say one way or another. And he personally failed me. (I always take my writers personally.) — But I happened across “Why I Write” in Lit Hub and so I came to be here once more. So there’s the quote and there’s the photo, of a much younger Salter than the one we buried. Indeed. It is for the moment what you understand, and believe.