also, impatient

Also I went to two museums over the weekend with my father and lost my hat.  I recently ended up with various documents from back in the day of my life and one that I got out to give to him is a postcard I sent him from my first writer’s conference/workshops– it was bennington in 1991, I was still a teenager, and I politely (judgmentally to cover up socially terrified-ly?) declined an invitation to a party thrown by Bret Easton Ellis rumored to be filled with cocaine we could all enjoy in order to return to the rooming house I shared with a nun and write.  In the postcard, I wrote to him (my dad) about how I thought he’d like my teacher Jerome Badanes, and I said that “Jerry” said I was precocious (I forget… something good…) and impatient.  Writing a good novel is a lot about being patient.

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