In my pathetic case, I knew from a young age that I would be better in written words than in most realities beyond dog walking and talking to loved ones...I used to teach kids that a reason to write is to be what you aren't in real life. Anyhow, I think people grow old and yucky much more quickly than good writing does so I don't regret investing more of myself in my writing and reading than in mirrors and other admirerers... However, I also confess to trying to lose my "italian weight"by riding the exercise bike first thing in the morning and working my way through Alexander's chapters. I made a deal with myself (and my Springer Spaniel, "Holden" witnessed it so help his uncut tail!) to read this biography of Salinger once without a mark or bent page or yelp but it's hard. I'm only seventy pages into it but already sense it's rather bloated without enough good insights to make the pages very turnable. I feel like I felt when I plowed through Maynard's prose. Christ Buddies, the way Alexander deals with this stuff probably set you all off a while ago but I'm behind the curve and just catching rye...maybe hoping to catch the above paragraph with a paradoxical reflection...woof, will On Wed, 18 Aug 1999, Camille Scaysbrook wrote: > writing is so much more exciting than me? Why does this virago lodged > inside my pen attract, provoke, and fascinate so much more than I do? It's > like speaking Clark Kent but being heard as Superman. >