I have a feeling that I probably go to this resort way too often. It was here that I found out that Rafael Chirbes had died. I was pregnant with Klara, by the way. And now I’m finishing his diaries while sitting in the exact same spot on the beach in front of the same hotel.
Guess what I found out? Chirbes was planning a new novel. Based on the little excerpts and the general description in the diaries, it was going to be extremely good. And then he had to go and die at the age of 66. It’s so unfair.
The lesson is that while we can write, read, work, and do our thing, we shouldn’t delay. Just go and do it, whatever your “it” is.

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