He called himself a writer, but never seemed to write much. He claimed he was learning how to write less, that his long term goal was to write a one word novel. He bragged that he was making progress, that his latest novel was down to two lines.
Chapter 1
"Why don't you ever visit me?", she asked.
"Because I love you", he replied.
He said he was struggling to find an apt title, and a publisher who understood his minimalist style, who understood that two lines told enough of the story, yet allowed the reader the freedom to imagine the rest.
"Why would anyone buy a book that tells them everything?", he asked, apparently quite sincerely.
It became a habit to take coffee with him each week, eager to hear how little he had written over the last seven days, if he had completed a one sentence novel.
I found myself yearning for that one word novel, wondered what that word could be.
He reminded me that even a one word novel, no matter how perfect, would be a work of fiction, just another story, not an answer.
Parkstreet
