On September 15, a pipe bomb went off in a London metro station. The incident didn't attract much attention because, thankfully, no one died. But it struck a nerve with me since Parsons Green was one of the stops on my London itinerary.
This was half a year ago when we were still talking about a London launch for The Dancing Girl and the Turtle. The event was cancelled in the end and I confess to feeling annoyed. I changed my mind fast enough when, that very weekend, terrorists attacked Westminster Bridge.
A friend posted on 9/11 about her brother's narrow escape in 2001. He owes his life to a restaurant double-booking. We call it serendipity when fate saves our ass. And tough nuts when it don't.
These somber thoughts may be part of our zeitgeist. Last Friday, I heard Jeanette Winterson predict death by AI in her talk "Do Robots Read?"
Yet Winterson remains hopeful. She calls on us to cultivate that spark of creativity we all possess. To make art, perform art, be art. To the universe, art is our USP. Winterson invokes the words of William Carlos Williams to prove her case:
It is difficult
to get the news from poems
yet men die miserably every day
of what is found there.
This week's blog post is neither so high-minded as poetry nor so low-spirited as pipe bombs. It's just right since it talks about the here and now. This Monday, my very first blog tour kicked off. You can read all about it in: A Book Blog Tour. And while you're waiting for the next blog stop to pop up, you can take a look at my review of the literary journal: Narrative Magazine.