An Ongoing, Erratic Diary
|13 July 2012, 8:34 AM|
|I started reading Pico Iyer's collection Flight into the Foreign, and I was immediately depressed, because it was ridiculously good, and I suddenly felt that my writing would never measure up to this. I think that was actually a good chunk of why I was cranky yesterday, as I tried to finish this draft of my travel memoir.
But this morning, I happened to read the back cover, which offered quotes like this: "Pico Iyer's remarkable talent is enough justification for going anywhere in the world he fancies," "The world's best travel writer," "He is most often called a travel writer, but if Iyer is only a travel writer, then so was Henry James," etc. and so on. And these reviews are from Washington Post Book World, the LA Times, etc., not Joe's Bookstore Gazette.
So anyway, I felt better. If this book doesn't end up QUITE as good as one written by the world's best travel writer, I, and my career, will probably survive. Take a deep breath, Mary Anne. Breathe. It'll be fine.
Also, my writing studio here has a chair covered in elephants, battered but beautiful. I'm going to sit in it as I work on the last revisions for this round of drafting, including the part about the elephants. That has to be a good omen, right? I will take whatever positive feedback I can get, even if it comes in the form of woven elephants.
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