I just read an autobiographical piece by a famous writer. The piece, written in 2003, was published in The New Yorker magazine in October 2003 and I quote from it now so that struggling artists might see that their experiences are probably not unique. Can you guess who the writer is?
"The books I read I obtained by chance and luck, and they depended more on chance than on any luck of mine, because the friends who could afford to buy them lent them to me for such limited periods that I stayed awake for nights on end in order to return them on time."
“'In any case, that story already belongs to the past,' he concluded. 'What matters now is the next one.' I was flabbergasted and foolish enough to look for arguments to the contrary, until I understood that no advice I heard would be more intelligent than his."
“'I suppose you realize the trouble you got yourself into,' he said, fixing his green king-cobra eyes on mine. 'Now you’re in the showcase of recognized writers, and there’s a lot you have to do to deserve it.'"
"His was the only opinion that could affect me as much as that of Ulises, and I was petrified. But before he finished speaking I decided to preempt him with what I considered then, and have always considered since, to be the truth: 'That story is a piece of shit.'"
"This story was published with the same fanfare as the first, on Saturday, October 25, 1947, and illustrated by the painter Enrique Grau, a rising star in the Caribbean sky. I was struck that my friends accepted this as a routine occurrence and me as a renowned writer. I, on the other hand, suffered over the errors, doubted the successes, but managed to keep my hope alive."
So - who wrote these comments above?
Comments