Big Jay met William Faulkner in a diner. Later Jay would report how relaxed Faulkner was.
I smiled when I read of the meeting. Faulkner was standing, leaned back against a wall. I would almost contend he was observing but he could have been dreaming of what it would be like when he got back to Rowan Oak. Who'd be waiting for him. Those walls. I saw where he outlined the book, spent a summer reading what I could of his work. I always assumed he was a madman but the calmness Jay described seemed to fit him more.
Though I loved Hemingway for his sense of reporting, the power found in his lack of words, there was just always something about Faulkner, how a rambling mind would describe more of what I saw.
Today I am grateful for the voices we hear from back then and all the ones who speak so freely now.
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Special thank you goes out to Aunt Wanda for the fine china.