Dear my lovers, friends, spouses, significant others, strangers. Dear all people in the world at large whose lives are in danger of my passing through, staying a while, dragging along or treating badly. I write this letter to warn you might find versions of yourselves in my novels and stories and poems. In fact, you will most definitely find versions of yourselves in my writings. You may recognize these yous, or you just might not. But of the possibility of this use, there is always a clear and present danger.
I am a writer, I was a writer before I was born. I can’t help myself, I feed on experiences personal and second hand, just as much as experiences imagined into being. Experiencing things, and stealing the experiences of others its necessary corollary, is a vampire-instinct-for-blood-without-the-hype compulsion for me.
I hope you will still love and hate, provide significance and be indifferent or even not know me, as you have carried on until this #Note.
Yours, and everyone else’s,
– Richard Ali.