The Angst of Being a Good Reader

There is a moment as a reader when you stop reading, sit back, and realize that not only are you not Tolstoy, Garcia-Marquez, Dostoevsky, the Brontes, Melville, Faulkner, O’Connor, Shakespeare, Homer, Murakami, Fitzgerald and all the gang, but you that you never will be. And this is depressing because they seem like such a cool gang, and you really want to join. But, like the kid bringing a garbage can lid to the snowboarding slopes, you’re hopelessly out of your league, and skulk on home to watch cartoons and eat packages of orange cream push-ups and watermelon bubble gum, wondering what it might be that causes the difference between you and the Flying Tomato.



Discuss? Enthuse? Rant? Rebel? Partake?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s