A writer wrote back.
Maybe it was an apology.
Perhaps it was intended as an explanation.
Possibly it was a strange, terrible failure to communicate between the person telling the story and me, the person receiving it.
Let’s go with that.
He meant something completely different from the warning-label design of his book cover. It was intended to shock, to awaken, to inspire people to listen, to learn, to do different.
I didn’t get that.
Was it there?
Maybe it was — for some.
Not for me.
With one kind, much belated response to my post, the writer has shown himself to be real.
RP Eddy is a real person.
What happens now that we’re telling the truth in our own real voices?
Here’s where we started: