[Samuel Johnson, Century 18]To continue with the office before the above:
I also thought that the conference I can see, M, with whom I worked at the Miami Herald that he was my friend and neighbor (as in not talking to your neighbor, skolelærere would say he was in the table behind me, I think) and confidential. I knew he earned a master's degree in creative writing.
I am in the conference. I am invited to the party created by the University **, where the recently received her master. Before leaving, I'm standing on the mezzanine of the hotel and looking down and I think the recognition in the lobby.
Cocktail. It's here. She is on the buffet, and I'm at the buffet, and she talks to anyone and we are so far - but it speaks to someone, and I said nothing.
So I turn to the person who came to see the celebration. We talked for some time. Then we parted and I say hello to the cocktail to a young writer, playing a Jewish woman, we did together. So I'm in the next room and I see one and talk to a man in a dark suit. The next time I turn around to approach, still talking, but they moved about three feet away. And next time, of a meter. I am defeated. I do not want to continue. It seems very difficult, psychologically, trolling and get involved in their conversation. And then the next time you see me, they left.
I'm so excited. I'm so sad. I'm 90 percent sure she saw me. I can talk to an old friend at the time said it was sad that I can forgive, still clings to that anger. It must go further. I go down to catch the people that I'm having dinner with him and I am always sad and I tell them and gently over dinner from the bustle of sadness and dissipate.
I do not know yet if I think of the One and reports of observation so important because she rejected me. I remember a friend who broke up with his girlfriend and then she wrote the letter to the letter and I thought it was too much that it was his seat, but he returned to visit her and they are now married 15 years or more with two smiling children. I thought his persecution was extreme, but I was wrong.
What am I so eager to talk with her? What am I so eager to discuss? I mean the teenagers we were when we started college and I want to know about journalism has never been so difficult for her because she has been for me (crying in pure anxiety before interviews) what she has learned over the years, she practiced while pursuing the style and the "free speech", why she decided to explore the "creative writing" and what she learned was different from his everyday life. My daily life is taken by studying the masters of the test, and current suppliers, and reading, which I use in my own work I have a hard time finding a structure. Only a fool would ever write for free, but we, my brothers in the world of creative writing, it is all the time. (As Samuel Johnson said, no man but a fool ever wrote except for money.
) We are innovators and thinkers, and we try to send a message shaped into pieces that will last a while if not forever, but these parts are not sufficiently valued, and so even if we no cons palms with silver, we offer our carefully honed working for magazines, serving a thousand or five hundred to one hundred and fifteen. We write these things because we have and how odd odd odd is it that someone who earns his living as a journalist would choose to study how to write more exquisite and a much smaller.
Or maybe he wanted to write books, and the general public.
--to be continued--
