February 18th, 2008

Finalmente è morto

Over the past year I've been working steadily on WITNESS, my memoir, and I've tried and discarded a large number of different opening paragraphs. Tell me what you think of these:

My father died on a sunny Monday morning in mid-August, 2005, at his home in Austintown, Ohio. He was 89.

When I read his obituary I felt no emotion whatever, as if it were just a stock market report, or a weather forecast. In the days and weeks that followed, my continued non-reaction seemed peculiar. I thought something must be wrong with me. I ought to be feeling something, one way or another, like regret and sadness, or gratitude and elation. Anything. But I didn’t.

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