God, how bored I get with talk about writers, writing, endless gabbing about themselves, about writing, about what it all means, about how to write, how to worship the appropriately gendered or sexualized bestselling genius, how to overcome writer's block, how to balance two jobs and a career as a midlist novelist, how to channel your ideal disputant, how to honestly convey political opinions, how to teach would-be writers how to become writers, how to....gag. So, now I'm a taxi driver and writer, instead of just a writer. Feels somehow more ... authentic? Nah. I'll drop it in a New York second, soon as I pay off my debts.
Case in point of the afore-mentioned gabbing of the literati: The New York Times's idea of hitting it big "against the odds" is the success enjoyed by Anthony Doerr with his new novel All The Light We Cannot See, which, thanks to the predictable efforts of Doerr's major publisher and agent, has become a NYT bestseller. It's a fine novel, and fair play to him. But here's the point: What are "the odds" against which Doerr has so heroically prevailed? Why, those of being 41 years old; the author of four well-reviewed books; and the winner of (caps mine, for emphasis) "AROUND 20 LITERARY AWARDS AND HONORS." Such a miracle, for him to overcome those handicaps. (More here.)
Next time we'll examine a case of really winning against the odds. Stay chewned.