413. One man’s trashy novel is another man’s Tolstoy.

Had an interesting day yesterday.

Actually that’s a lie. It wasn’t really interesting to anyone but me.

When I said that I realized that I never read anything like what I write. I read stories, hopefully plots with plenty of “throbbing members”in them. I particularly like mysteries but very few memoirs.

I don’t know, I’m just not my cup of tea.

Last night I was in Brooklyn having dinner with Susan and Allan. I know I’ve said this before but going to a restaurant with them is a unique experience.

After they order, “one teaspoon of this with just a dot of that”, they are not at all troubled that the owner of the restaurant stands and talks to them for what I felt was hours.

And you know when the waiter says “How was your meal?”, unless there was a dead rat in my soup my answer would be, “Fine”.

Al’s answer, “Only fair”.

It was some kind of sushi roll and he had eaten the whole thing.

Obviously this was important news to the waiter who immediately reported it to the  owner because Mr. Chatty came over to the table to see why such a mediocre review.

Unfortunately Al was in the bathroom and Susan, who can’t stand to see anyone in distress said “Everything was great, you know Al. I’m telling you he loved it.”

But this guy was no dummy. He wasn’t going to take Miss Sunshine’s word for it so when Allan came back he ran over again to tell him that he wouldn’t charge him because anything less than perfect just wasn’t good enough for his favorite customer.

This guy must have put another room on his house from their tips alone.

We continued our meal and in conversation I mentioned that I felt like a third wheel when I go out to dinner with a couple.  Al asked if I felt that way when I eat with them. I had to admit that I did.

He was shocked. We’ve been close friends for over 30 years and there were many times that Sue ate with me and dave and I ate with Al and Sue quite comfortably.

When I explained that I wouldn’t feel that way if dave were just out of town but it being a permanent situation made a difference, he understood.

Then he asked me to tell him what makes me truly happy. I didn’t have to think for long.

It’s when I’m writing and I feel it flowing.

Considering that given a choice I wouldn’t read the crap I write if I was stuck on a mountain for ten years, that says a lot.

6 thoughts on “413. One man’s trashy novel is another man’s Tolstoy.

  1. Ok. I totally get it. The last part I mean. I love nothing more than to record especially when it’s flowing, yet I can’t or don’t like to listen to it afterwards. Perfectionism? Not sure. I’m writing this during the sermon at my church gig. Not sure what that says either. Lord in your mercy……..hear our prayers!

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