I recently sat in the office of a paid professional listener, unloading the contents of my personal baggage onto her obviously hand-loomed, checkered hot pink and lime green rug. A box of tissues on a nearby table was seeing a lot of action. As I recounted a particularly absurd moment that had recently transpired, she suddenly laughed out loud and exclaimed, "You should write a play!"
Having her find the horrors of my life fodder for good theater was not all that comforting, although she tried to make me feel better by saying she knew I would do a great job. The thing is, I don't want to spend my time writing about my own life; it's enough of a burden some days just to live it. What I wish is that I had the talent and imagination to create a whole other person's life, something I have never been able to do.
So it's with awe that I read a new book written by a 50-year-old woman who somehow knows what it feels like to be a 27-year-old man. The book is Donna Tartt's "The Goldfinch," and even though I am only on page 19, I can tell it's a great story. Still, I wonder--how can you make up a whole other life, with memories and likes and dislikes, without having some of your own slip in? I might try that, after I finish this book. Only 762 pages to go....
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| Gordon Studer |
So it's with awe that I read a new book written by a 50-year-old woman who somehow knows what it feels like to be a 27-year-old man. The book is Donna Tartt's "The Goldfinch," and even though I am only on page 19, I can tell it's a great story. Still, I wonder--how can you make up a whole other life, with memories and likes and dislikes, without having some of your own slip in? I might try that, after I finish this book. Only 762 pages to go....
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