It may sound dumb to many of you, but even now I can't give up the possibility (or what was once a probability) of pursuing academia for a living due to the simple reason that I love books so goddamn much. I'm a weird bird, I know. But fuck it: I love reading books, discussing them, writing about them, even reading criticism that would bore anyone
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Remind me to slap you next time I see you. Since it will probably be so far away that I will have forgotten.
As for books, I tried to read Waugh's Scoop, but I just couldn't stay interested in it.
And now, I really want to reread Edmund White's The Beautiful Room is Empty again, to remind me what a beautiful sentence really looks like.
I really need to get turned onto some new authors...any recommendations?
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*ahem*
"Melanie...might you have any rec-o-mendations on authorship?"
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.nabokov
.julian barnes
.and always a good choice: gabriel garcia marquez
.something highly recommended, which i'm reading in a few weeks: elizabeth mccracken's 'the giant's house'
but what do i know? *hmpf!*
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is the shax bio you're reading called 'will in the world'? i'm reading that right now.
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Thanks for the reassurance, but what's weird about my present situation is that I'm not looking for any. I feel comfortable saying that I'm qualified. What I never expected was to get over that hump of self-doubt (which I've had for many years) and then decide to move in another direction. What I'm doing is in no way permanent, but I don't know where it will lead me. I'm so anxious by my very nature that for once I'm allowing myself to enjoy the moment, even if the moment doesn't look like what I had envisioned for myself long ago.
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