Perhaps the intrinsic inability of any person to “see” neither the light entering the eyes of another, nor the sounds heard, odors smelt, skin crawls felt and palates tickled, is the reason we cannot ever empathize truly. Whilst this observation may not fall into the 'epiphany' category, I fail to see a reason NOT to put it in here on my blog, considering this is How I Wrote The Book I Never Wrote. Expounding upon the fragments and snatches of self-conversations that continuously go on in my mind is fruitful, to the end that I make better sense of the world than before. When I re-read things I am working on, the endless urge to edit, re-write and alter comes to the fore, and I give in to it. Well, 32 is as good an age as any to get rejected for getting published, so this August, 2017, I shall print out the hundred-odd pages of single-spaced text spanning my under-construction works, and do the proverbial rounds. As I keep telling myself (and immediately ignoring), I’ve got to ...