I write books that I would like to read. There is a purity to that, a kind of monastic dedication, a turning away from clamouring expectations. Instead, I aim for the little gaps in my experience, the haunting spaces that keep me up at night, my eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, trying to write the book that does not yet exist. 

I compose with the reader I once was in mind, and the reader I might become, prone to falling in love with sentences. I hope one day to write something I can’t bear to finish because I am terrified of what will be left of me after the last page.

Meanwhile, I write books I would like to read…

© KD.W.Heim