On books past (and on saying thanks)

Yesterday, in preparation for the re-launch of this very blog (which will be happening soon), I did something I almost never do—return to books once written.  I was in search of a few words about each, and in going back, all the way back, over 12 books and five genres, I stumbled across the generosity of authors like Buzz Bissinger, Jayne Anne Phillips, Andre Dubus III, Rosellen Brown, Ken Kalfus, Susan Straight, Kate Moses, Katrina Kenison, Naomi Shihab Nye, Sy Montgomery, Jennie Nash, and others; I was reminded of the kindness and illuminating intelligence of reviewers whom I've never met and likely never will.

Whenever I could, wherever I could, I have sought to reach out, to say thank you.  But yesterday, I realized, I haven't said thank you enough to those who have tried to understand.  What I see.  Why I write.  How I hear.  What I want.  There's an I in each of those fragments.  That selfish, big, bolded I.  I stood where I stood, and others circled near.  You can't say thank you enough.