Because I do see what she means about life being ‘real’ to a writer only when that writer can think about it and process it and, of course, write about it. Though I also happen to think that such a way of living is somehow false, or second-rate, almost a disservice to life itself, insofar as it prevents the writer from inhabiting the present the way it ought to be inhabited, if one can in fact say of the present that there is a way it ought to be inhabited, compared to other ways. Which perhaps one can’t.