Novelists are stamina merchants, grinders, nine-to-fivers, and their career curves follow the usual arc of human endeavour.
“I pressed my father's hand and told him I would protect his grave with my life. My father smiled and passed away to the spirit land.”
“My own position is, that it is largely up to the work itself to suggest the nature of these referential points without dimensions in and through the processes by which the distance between them is maintained.”