I knew I'd find you

I’m reading Jack London’s John Barleycorn, and it has transported me.  Not away, not to a different location, but to the sub level of thinking that only a few contemporary authors have enabled me, with their fiction, to find commonality and mutual understanding.
They are;
Jack London
Charles Bukowski
Sherwood Anderson
Jack Kerouac
Virginia Woolf and
Henry Roth
I don’t seem to have the patience for much storytelling with all that is real.  But, if I am going to read it, these are the ones that cause me to  pause,  look off into the middle-distance, and  bring me to wonder. 
Now, that all could be because of my A.D.D. and not some notion that my time is so very valuable, and that’s why I don’t read much fiction.  But, I have found that from a very young age, the writers that could give me a glimpse of the internal dynamic,  that aren’t pedantic, but are reaching for a simple truth , provide me with a feeling that is both rare and dear.