I work on the novel. I am making so many mistakes so quickly I know I'm on to something. This is a stretch for me, every word of it: I'm on brittle ground, waiting for fractures, and it's good, it's all good.

The Calligrapher is reading Shame's journals, which the emperor sent to him in advance of their meeting so as to acquaint him with his assignment. They discuss all the Corrections Shame has made and their results, a chronicle of his life's work as a public servant:

I continued reading as the day waned, rising only to bring a lamp to my window-seat. Though terse, each entry evoked a self-contained world in all its nuance: a twisted spirit or ungentle mind, the circumstances that had brought it to that sickness, and through each, like a thread of incense, the presence of the osulkedi, Shame's servant, who led each supplicant back to righteousness and cleansed their spirits. It was a book of redemption found in the pain of expiation and the darkness of confession, and I found it haunting, unnerving and irresistible.

I take a break, because fighting for every word and every paragraph is mentally exhausting. There are things coming I'm having a hard time figuring out how to even describe, much less write about. I'm so engaged in trying to wrestle those things into view that I barely notice the shadow over my shoulder, the silhouette in the laptop's LCD.

A low voice behind me says, "Love does not wear many faces. It is we who put masks on Love and use them to deceive ourselves."

Something in me stops. I remember to blink, twist to look over my shoulder. Shame stands straight as a sword and shadowed as a mystery in his long cloak. At my expression, he says, "Do not fancy that all the wisdom in this book of yours is the Calligrapher's, osulkedi aunerai. I too have learned a little on this journey of ours."

"I wouldn't imagine otherwise," I say after I find words again.

He leaves. I look at the 20-odd pages, so hard-won, and wonder where I'm going. And then laugh, because all my best books have made me feel this way. I'm scared. It's good. I write.


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