The really interesting stuff about
most writers can be found in the words they've written, and
sometimes in how and why they came to write what they did.
The Hemingway myth has turned out to be a lot less satisfying
than the stories and novels he left behind. George Higgins
lived a pretty quiet life, even when he was doing gangland
murder prosecutions, but his work and his attempts to carry
prose dialogue to new places in crime fiction writing is
damned interesting.
I'd have loved to have known John D,
for no other reasons than those that have come from reading
his work. Travis was his creation and that counts for plenty.
However, I have no illusions that knowing him would have made
us interesting to each other personally, nor would it have
guaranteed friendship.
A few years ago, I spent several
hours (along with 4 or 5 other people) talking to Joyce Carol
Oates who is one of my literary heroes. She is a modest and
private person, but at the end of our time together I could
not resist using a one-on-one moment to make a total ass of
myself by trying to tell her how much I have enjoyed and
learned from her work, and by trying to get her to tell me
more about herself.
I was reaching for answers about how
she came to write "Man Crazy," and I was looking for
connections between the characters and the author. Dumb.
Dumb. Dumb. I've never seen anyone squirm like that, but once
underway, I couldn't stop until I'd finished embarrassing
both of us.
We know the writers we love only
through their works, and they don't know us at all. Most of
the time that should be enough for both sides. It seems
strange to me now to claim disappointment when a writer
reveals little beyond his or her work, either directly or
through biography.
Jim
Blue
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