Writing

Begging

Begging

Jim was one of my best friends; I met him when he was begging. He had cerebral palsy, and when he sat in his chair, hands askew off clenched arms, head sometimes lolling back, legs dangling, he might have–until you caught the gleam in his eyes–seemed completely inert.

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On "Indignation"

I just began reading Phillip Roth’s Indignation, prompted by the film’s release reminding me that this novel was one I’d missed. I go way back as a Roth reader (college, Goodbye, Columbus—the short stories—then the excitement of his first novel, Letting Go), dropped out mid-way, picked him up again about five years ago. But had missed this one. And The Humbling. I double-ordered.

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Where I Write

Yes, of course, "the writing space"—used to be the Writers Room, now it’s Paragraph on West 14th Street.  My friend Jack, commenting on my first blog, asked why I didn’t find a more congenial place to write, as it seemed like a long bunch of work to get here.  It’s tough, yes. But for me, the quiet sound of other writers’ brains engaged, the quiet tap of computer keys, the occasional muffled cough, all are eager fuel to my fire.

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