In the last issue, we finally came face to face with the Building Blocks of Creative Writing. They stand before us.
There are large blocks and there are small blocks. There are blocks of different colours and shades. They sit there.
Disordered. We can see they will all fit together somehow, and the possibilities of their construction are myriad. We have a sense there is an order to them. An order of size or importance, or something. We don’t know what. We feel there is also something else, something beyond what we see.
Something inside us tells us these are not just blocks.
They are gateways.
Tentatively, we step up to face the first of these blocks. The largest of them all. It towers above us. It looks as if all the other blocks could stand upon it, and it would not buckle. It looks as if it has stood here for a thousand years – and will be here when all around us is dust. On the front of this block, carved
