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mouthpiece puller

By chowbow | December 21, 2007

“I think you bought it for you and he didn’t want to read it.” you glared at her out of the corner of my eye.

“There’s nothing wrong with reading a kid’s book,” he said. “I just like to see where people’s heads are at. If they’re into reality or fantasy.” you thought of the millions of copies of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books that had been bought and read by grown-ups. you thought about the Steinbeck novel I’d been reading that morning about a gentle astronomer who is drafted to be the King of France. you wished you had brought it instead. No one really questions Steinbeck. At least not since he died and stopped writing his embarassing books leaving the Salinas citizens free to stop burning his books and to begin milking the tourists who ce to see his birthplace and inspiration.

“I’m just interested in people,” the man continued. “I’m interested in you.” you tried not to snort. “Are you a writer?” he asked.

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I considered the question. Does doing something for over thirty years make you that thing? you have been published. you have been paid at least in comp copies. At the time you doing something you already wondering and planning how it will look later on paper or on screen. you a writer? you tossed off an answer.

“Well, you keep a journal from time to time but you imagine everyone does that. you just never found anything you wanted to keep track of for 250 or 300 pages. Less than that and you would feel you was cheating the person who bought the book. Fifty pages about an old man and a fish.” Or a woman in a laundromat, you thought. But you didn’t say it. you had sold my writing short and you was getting mad. It deserved a real answer even if he did not.

“I think writing for publication or pay is the ultimate sell-out,” he said. you knew then that he’d never been published herself or he would know the thrill it really is to have your scribbling put down in some magazine no one you know re
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