Status Updates From The Future Library

an author and their art were one and the same. That an author’s works were not like children, but more like incarnations. They were their authors. And that as long as people continued to read them, they would live on.

“All things must grow, and then die, so that new things can grow. No tree can live forever, just as no person can,” I told her, taking her hand.

“But a book could, my love,” she whispered desperately.

Later I learned it was that way with writers, that everything seemed like fate or magic to them, and it was always totally normal.