Norman Mailer viciously described john Updike as “the kind of author appreciated by readers who knew nothing about writing.” I believe I know a riveting piece of literature when I read one. And since I read many, many works by John Updike, even when his subject matter or POV was different than my own, I feel quite certain my admiration for him as a writer was not misplaced.
John Updike conferred Henry Bech with a fictional Nobel Prize. If there’s an afterlife for authors, I expect there’s a trophy waiting for John Updike, who died yesterday.
I opened up a Word document to do something as mundane as personalize a certain type of residential contract of sale. Though most of the forms list the date of execution as the _____ day of ___________, 20____, I must have inadvertently saved the year the last time I used the form. And that was in August, 2007! So almost 17 months have gone by since I prepared this previously ordinary and routine document. My check book grasped this fact a long time ago, but my brain received a momentary thwack.
A client who bought a house for $615,000 in 2004 just e-mailed to say he may have sold it after listing it since May, 2008 for $600,000. And he’s “damned pleased to be almost done with this albatross.”