Pencils and notebooks have always fascinated me. I wanted them. Still do. Yet they were mostly empty, except for a snippet here and there. Or a sketch. Then in 1997, something happened to open my mind to the words inside. Words that needed to get out. Words still trying to escape. ALL OF THEM.
Never imagined that I would write a novel, nor did I set out to do so, even though I’ve had a love affair with paper since young, writing and sketching, then hiding or tossing most of it … until something I wrote and threw out and, by chance, I grabbed back.