#did not necessarily need to know that u found atwmd boring but honestly. not mad bc in the context of the message it made me laugh

[rollercoasterwords]

In my neighbourhood, there’s this little pink wooden house-on-a-stand sort of thing, with The Free Library written on it. The rule is, take a book, leave a book. My parents don’t like me going there, because then they can’t check if the books are ‘appropriate,’ like they do all my library books. But I go anyway, because of course I do. One day last summer, I went and found two cool-looking books, Lars Iyer’s Wittgenstein Jr., and Eve Zaremba’s Work for a Million. Reading the prior literally sent me into a weeklong philosophical crisis, changed my life in unimaginable ways, and hugely shaped the person I am today, but today I want to talk about the former. Work for a Million.

I’ve had WfoM for almost a year now, but I’ve never really tried to read it, until yesterday. I was bedrotting, sick with writer’s block, surrounded by barely worn clothes, a dozen led pencils, a few empty starbucks bottles, and the sea of thingamabobits that’s spilled from my desk onto my bed. I saw the book on my shelf, and thought, ‘why not?’ So thus I got up to grab it.

Skimming through. It’s a crime novella, about a dyke detective, written in the 1980s. In the introduction, the author touches briefly on what the eighties were like. I, being still very much a teenager, know nothing of the eighties, except of course from marauders fanfiction. 

And then I remembered you, Rae, and your retelling of ATYD. And then I was just struck by the memory of reading it and what a talented writer you were in that.  Granted, it’s been a while since I’ve read anything by you, and frankly I found atwmd to be quite boring, and stopped following after a few chapters. But still, from what I remember, when you write you have this innate ability to just transport the reader into the narrative, and it’s like they experience the story just as the characters do. That’s how I felt, at least. I felt, perhaps stupidly, that I, in a way, experienced pieces of the seventies because of the way you wrote about them. You just create this vibe, that in a moment pulls readers into the story and leaves them dazen and blinking at its end. ‘The fuck just happened?’, they’ll ask each other, palms to their foreheads. ‘Did you feel that too?’

I don’t know if it’s years of practice or just natural talent, but the way you write is something I, as an aspiring writer, really respect and maybe even envy. I think if we knew each other in real life we’d be friends. Or maybe I’d follow you around like an annoying child, I don’t know. This message is more a thank-you than a compliment. Even when I’m older, I think whenever I’m stressed and my copy of Wittgenstein Jr. isn’t on my person, I’ll probably just open up ao3 and start rereading your Summer 1977 to calm myself down. So for that future, thank you. And for the past, the first time I read your writing, thank you. Sincerely, kudos.

-Robert.

emoji representation of me reading this message:

🙂🧐😲🙂😊😧😟😔🤨😕😐🙂🤭😊😌🙂🤗

i appreciate the kind words! glad my take on atyd resonated w u & wishing u all the best w ur own writing etc <3