I have spent some time talking with people who were there. It’s not easy. I myself, even after I wrote this book, have trouble reading it.

I don’t want to go back to the scene of the accident.

I was talking with an old friend. She was there. She witnessed a lot of it.

True, she didn’t know all of the story. She had her own scenes she was dealing with.

So when I said somethign she said, “Wait, what? I don’t think I knew about that.”

And I had to explain.

Quickly. About people we knew differently.

And there it is. The part two. Is it my sequel? Or the sequel of all of us?

And it doesn’t end so pretty. How can I write an open-ended sequel? There should be some sense of ending.

That’s the trouble with true stories. They don’t end. They just kind of rest.

[this is cross-posted here]