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2006-02-19 // 9:28 p.m. Today, Etai sent me the forward and first chapter to what he calls his �life story.� This beginning of a memoir, though only in its first draft, speaks in a way that I have not seen his previous writing achieve. Surely this is a combination of two things: a great suggestion from a friend who is versed in Etai�s work as a writer and the simple maturity that a writer gains from years of practice. As I said to Etai on the phone, I�m not sure how much credit to give to Micah�s suggestion that Etai �write blind,� meaning that he use the auditory sense for description, since this is how he best interacts with the world. It could just be that it�s been a while since I�ve read an important piece of his and he has simply improved with time. Regardless of which factor played the larger part, it rings true that Etai�s writing has reached a new level. Etai asked me to read his writing aloud to him over the phone. A ways into the reading, I realized how much I miss this type of thing. How long has it been since I�ve read and given feedback on someone�s writing? The memoir class I took last spring was the last time I can recall but a classroom environment lacks the feeling involved in collaborating with a close friend. Etai warmed my heart by saying that I am the only person he would trust to edit his latest project. I am overjoyed (as though such a thing � too much joy -were possible) that some things never change. Along with the reminiscent feeling came a growing tug from within. I am close. All I seem to be able to write recently is journal entries, such as this, but I feel the stories� insistent knock. Soon, I will start hearing the characters speak. Then, I will have no choice. Oh, how I miss it, miss them, the voices that bring me to a desk, a blank white screen, and a keyboard, as though nothing else in time or space exists.
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