Fellow Traveller

Sputnik! A new word in a strange language identifying a giant achievement. Sixty-Five years ago I was in Sixth grade squatting in one quarter of the borrowed auditorium of somebody else’s school while my new school was under construction. My coon-skin cap was barely used and now I had to switch to wiggling antennae and beep-beeps to rival the roadrunner?

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The End of Publishing

I’ve told the story before and it’s true: One of my favorite professors at university announced to his class of aspiring young writers that Moby Dick is a novel; all the rest are just entertainments. While I agree with the sentiment of this, I might substitute Madame Bovary for the great white whale.

Yet there’s still a problem. Let’s face it, with few exceptions. all the rest are not really entertaining.

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Remember Rod McKuen

I was reminded that tomorrow is the day they expect that the Nobel Prize for Literature will be revealed. Sometimes I have a keen interest in these prizes; more often I skip the excitement. I don’t think it’s because I disagree with the selection committee (I often do) but more that I find awards ceremonies of questionable value. Hey, I don’t even follow the Academy Awards, the NFL standings, or the Jersey tomato weigh-off.

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