In 1938, John Steinbeck wrote in his journal, “Sometimes I write to promote social change. Sometimes I write to punish injustice. Sometimes I write to celebrate heroism. But all the time I write to help us try to understand each other.”
In my favorite story, “The Old Man and the Sea,” Ernest Hemingway wrote, “He had no mysticism about turtles although he had gone in turtle boats for many years. He was sorry for them all, even the great trunk backs that were as long as the skiff and weighed a ton. Most people are heartless about turtles because a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after he has been cut up and butchered. But the old man thought, I have such a heart too and my feet and hands are like theirs.”
As a writer, I have a heart like the turtles and the old man. I have feet and hands like theirs, too.
Sometimes my hands get calloused and broken from trying to heal people who have been left on the side of the road and from trying to overturn the injustice that put them there.
Sometimes, my feet get tired and broken from going to places where no one else wants to go and writing stories no one else wants to read.
Sometimes, my heart feels cut up and butchered from going and being and writing.
But my heart keeps beating.
And it’s all to help us try to understand each other.
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