I had an interview with one David Chau of Georgia Strait today. It probably won’t run for a while; there’s a lag between the doing of a thing and the appearance of a thing. Unless it’s live. Consider: between the signing and the launch of a book is a small eternity of two years.

Good conversation with the Strait man. We talked for a few hours. All those words will get reduced to a column of print. And the reporter will probably cut out the parts about the weirdness of touching meat, whether velvet should be worn, the double narrative our society gives us about contentment and ambition, floral prints, caffeine, age guessing-games, choosing books over movies.

The sad part about interviews is that the interviewer cuts himself out, leaving the subject alone. Why is writing so solitary?