Have you ever read something so beautiful and moving that you couldn’t get it out of your head? I just finished reading When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead, because Nice Young Agent said in an interview it was one of his favorite books as a kid (approximately ten years ago by my calculations). This left me with three conflicting emotions: I should stop writing, because I will never write anything that wonderful, I should write a lot more, because then I might someday write something that wonderful, I would rather use my seven minutes with Nice Young Agent talking about this book than my own.*
*Which I am not going to do. I might, however, find a way to trap him in an elevator, offer him a plate of cookies, and talk about the book.
p.s., to Nice Young Agent. If, by some cruel trick of fate, you happen to read any of my posts I assure you that 1. They aren’t about you and 2. I am condescending to everyone.