A dear friend who is quite literally the most gifted writer I know suggested I read a certain novel to expand my own writing ability. I sent him the following a couple days ago…
After slogging through 64 pages, hacking at extraneous vines of flowing words in hope of discovering an occasional sentence that advanced the plot, even an inch or two, I finally succumbed and gave up the search. If the literary jungle for brilliant writers is that difficult to traverse, I shall swing on the veranda hammock, mosquito net unfurled, insouciantly watching great authors move through that wilderness while harboring a secret pleasure that I am not among them.