The Finch Formerly Known As Gold

28 May 2003

Dues as a function of word count

Weetabix has grasped another High Truth:

The truth of the matter is simply that there are a finite number of words that must be written before something brilliant comes from your pen. And for someone like Margaret Atwood, that number is something like 132, whereas for someone like Wally Lamb, the number is probably in the six-digit range (go ahead and kvetch in the comments section but I really really HATED She's Come Undone and I read it when it came out, pre-Oprah, pre-Renee Zellweger film, pre-everything. It was schlock. It could have been good and instead, he beat the reader over the head with every bit of schmalz he had stored in his noggin. And he had the focal character commune with whales. With WHALES. I'm getting mad again just thinking about the bad plot devices in that thing. So, seriously, I'm glad that the book changed your life and made you cry or commune with your inner fat girl, but it just didn't work for me.)

My inner fat girl reminds you that Weet is talking about her comments section.

Where my own brilliance threshold kicks in, I don't know; I haven't reached it yet. And my word count is way into six figures, too.

Posted at 1:54 PM to Almost Yogurt

TrackBack: 12:36 AM, 29 May 2003
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That no story or novel I write will ever feature characters communing with whales. Ever. (Via Charles D. Hill.)......[read more]

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