Every once in a while, someone will tell me, unsolicited, that I should 'write' - not in a generic sense but more in a professional vein. I will confess, I have often wondered if I'd have the chops if I really, really applied myself...
I had the opportunity last week to meet an author. A real one - not a blogger but someone who has actually made money with the printed word. I listened to him stew over a screenplay's butchering of one of his books, lamenting the demise of a literary magazine he was a part of and gladly sat through plugs for his new works.
The two paragraphs come together like this: late that night he sat down and read from one of his books. I have never been present for such - sure, we've all heard it on NPR or some such - but to be present in an overstuffed chair as he sat on the fireplace hearth and read - editing as he went, explaining asides and laughing at his own jokes. It was amazing to listen to and in that listening get just a glimpse of the Author's mind. Capital A there, folks.
I knew that night that I would never write. Not like that. Not in that caliber or league. I have seen greatness and know that I will forever fall short. Interestingly, I am not saddened by such...
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