Yesterday I almost got to read with novelist Sayed Kashua. He had driven slowly, slowly through the fog toward the airport in Champaign, Illinois, thick fog of the kind—was it Hemingway?—compared to the process of writing, where your headlights show you just a few feet in front, but at each moment you drive, the lights show you that next little bit of road.  When he arrived in Chicago, all the flights had been cancelled: he would not make it ... Continue Reading