I remember Roberto Bolaño.  I don’t know, at times it worries me how much of an influence his writing has had on mine.  From a purely emotional standpoint, his work offers, to me, a permanent, enduring, and unknowable touchstone from which to learn and grow.  And yet, I wonder, by putting his work so high, what am I missing out on?  Which author am I failing to connect with who could be, for whatever reason, more piercing and true to the heart of me as a writer?  Or, is placing a writer in such high regard at all a wise method by which to consider literature and its impact?  My head says no, but my heart – oh!

-22 March 2016

This post is part of the I Remember series.