I just finished reading Patrick Rothfuss’s latest book: “The slow regard of silent things”. It was a strange book, but I liked it in a way that was strange too, and I understood why when I read the author’s note at the end of the book:
"Where's the story for people like me?" pic.twitter.com/eZAy5RG4gO— Winnie Lim (@wynlim) November 11, 2014
"I think it's because we're both somewhat broken, in our own odd ways." pic.twitter.com/nFv1kYxzoV— Winnie Lim (@wynlim) November 11, 2014
And he signed off with:
"This story is for all the slightly broken people out there. I am one of you. You are not alone. You are all beautiful to me."
I got all choked up reading that last sentence, because it served as a profound reminder of why I write what I write. There are many great stories written for the world, and then there are the ones who will never be as widely appreciated, but they possess their own magnitude. They are written for people like me, to remind us that we are really not alone.
I write for broken people, and I am one of them.