Light Years, James Salter

There are books by authors, and there are books by writers. And then there are books by writers, for writers. This is one of those things.

After my first read, it became one of those books that I turn to when I feel creatively bankrupt. I find myself increasingly reaching for it after a long day of staring at spreadsheets and having reluctant conversations about AI and KPI’s, and all the other unholy acronyms.

It’s not an epic or a page turner, but instead an intimate still life of growing up, which I’m learning doesn’t end after childhood.