Staring across the waters from Chesil Beach
I just finsihed, less than ten minutes ago, reading On Chesil Beach, a novel by Ian McEwan.
One day, that is what I want to write, what I dream to achieve. I aspire to write something powerful, something evocative and painful that destroys and confounds the reader. I want to bring an eighteen year-old, college student child to subtle, quiet tears as he lounges on a couch on-campus, just waiting for something to happen to him. I want to someday be the author of the first something in that child’s evening.