Thursday, July 14, 2005
Kiss My Rusty Dusty!
I would feel really bad and really kicked in the sand, especially since I don’t have Dennis Quaid’s six pack abs around to make me feel better like Dennis Christopher did, but the deal is, the FIRST person I ever wrote when I started my blog was Heather Havrilesky, who is a real writer—I don’t mean that in the bitchy petulant way, but in the way that she is actually a working writer (for Salon) and has maintained a blog since 1999. Guess what? She wrote me RIGHT back and it was the nicest damn email I have ever gotten. So there, all you superior, non-writing-back tramps. Hmph!
I feel like such a dork because I wrote them fan emails, you know? Like, Hi I like your work and here is some of my work kind of thing. I mean they could at least write back and say, “Good luck!” Holden Caulfield’s favorite blow-off. Or, “Kiss my rusty dusty,” my mother’s favorite come back.
So I guess the moral of the Dennis Christopher, sand in the face attempt at befriending or CONNECTING with fellow blog writers is: go to the top. Even the New Yorker will write ya back if you submit something to them. Yeah, it’s computer generated, but you know what? I treasure those stilted robotic emails. It means the New Yorker cares! But we always knew that. It has to do with class, ladies and germs. Class, and nothing more. Such a rapidly diminishing attribute.
I’ll tell you ANOTHER real writer who wrote me a LONG letter (as long as we're on the subject, dammit), Stephen McCauley, who is a heartbreakingly beautiful AND funny writer. Now, this may lead you to believe that I write people fan mail all the time. I don’t! That’s what's so crushing! I wrote three blog tarts whose work I admired, one to Heather Havrilesky, and my one letter to Stephen McCauley because I read his book when I was in Peace Corps and had fallen in love and gotten married and his book was all about love. When I got home from Peace Corps my mother had the letter from him waiting for me. It was so touching. And real. And polite and kind. I reached out to him and he responded all about love and told me he was happy I found love. He found time, in the middle of his busy, Hollywood screenplay writing, best seller book tour, real writer schedule to not just throw me a bone, but pen a touching, connected response.
So really, when you’re going to reach, make sure it’s high, and not into a snotty clique of tragic wannabes. Whew, there, I feel better now. Gotta go scare up some Friskies Buffet… |
Cynicism is another word for reality