I became a connoisseur of that nasty thud a manuscript makes when it comes through the letter box.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Sometimes a manuscript is like bread dough. You have to abuse it.
I think it says something that I have never had an obscene letter. A young man once attempted one, but it was so totally illiterate and hopeless that it made me laugh.
The normal reaction of a publisher when faced with an author with a bee in his bonnet is to grab the check and run.
I do not mourn the death of the printed letter in a snobby, East Coast, patrician way - 'Where have our manners gone?' - but because I love objects, I love paper, and I love something that I can hold to my chest for a moment. Still, I bear no grudge against the e-mail form itself.
A great deal of my mail comes from fans of the 'Oz' picture - fans of all ages. The scholarly, the curious, the disbelievers write and ask how? why? when? what for? did you fly? melt? scream? cackle? appear? disappear? produce? sky-write? deal with monkeys? etc., etc., etc.
Sometimes I think my writing sounds like I walked out of the room and left the typewriter running.
People say it's cathartic to write a book, but it turned out to be quite painful!
I'm a very careful, slow writer, and I think a lot of that comes from the care required to be a hand-printer, where if something isn't spaced out enough, you take little slivers of brass or copper and put them between each letter.
Writings scatter to the winds blank checks in an insane charge. And were they not such flying leaves, there would be no purloined letters.
For me, writing is such an escape, and I felt very lucky to have this to run away to.
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