Sometimes I write new blog posts just so people don’t have to look at the old blog posts, if they are particularly depressing or dark or sad. But if you came here looking for the story of the terrible thing that happened to me in 1989, it is here.
Thanks to all for the nice, supportive comments about it. “That sucks that it happened,” is all that you really need to say, which many of you did, and I love you for it.
I had been writing it in my head for more than twenty years, and it came out effortlessly, the same as any other story from a long time ago usually does for me. A ripe avocado falling from the knife. Now I feel very removed from it. It does not feel like it happened to someone else, just another version of me. There was no pain in the writing of it. There may, in fact, have been a little pleasure in its creation, because it was so easy to write. I felt that all of the words were mine, and mine alone.
And now: Onward!
Tonight Stefan is having his big launch for The Storm at the Door at the Center for Fiction. He got an amazing AP review today, and Kate got a great one last week, both from the same critic. (Who are you, blessed genius Michelle Wiener, and would you like to read a book called The Middlesteins sometime in the next year?) He has a bunch of other readings, none of which I will be attending except for the one at WORD. He and Kate are reading together in Boston next week, and I am jealous.
This concludes a month of book parties. I have no more to attend for the rest of the summer. And now I will stop talking about my friend’s books but you guys, their books are REALLY GREAT. You’re going to buy them, right?
