Two walls, really. One for the people who found the book. One for everyone else.
A man in Colorado Springs reviewed my novel and, without meaning to, said the truest thing anyone has said about it: that Elias’s life revolves around the people who pass through. He is right. Elias is not invented. He is assembled, out of nine years of lobbies and kitchens and front desks and the particular things people say at eleven at night when they have driven further than they meant to.
So this room has two walls. If you read the book, tell me what it did. And if you never read a word of it, but our paths crossed somewhere and something stayed, that belongs here just as much. Maybe more.
People who found Still, by Design., or the podcast, and said so.
Loading the wall…
Anywhere our paths crossed. A lobby in Montana, a dining room in Georgia, a front desk at nine thousand feet. No book required.
Loading the wall…
Or what did the book do. Either one. Nothing goes up until I have read it, and it only ever appears with the name you give below.