best seller

Growing up, I dreamed of being a writer.  I even entered a national writing competition in middle school, and was invited to a national convention for young writers.  My ever-so-cleverly-titled entry, "A Rose Has Thorns," was about a young girl who became a top model and learned that the world of high fashion had a dark side...sounds riveting, eh?

Alas, I wound up writing legal briefs instead of novels, which stifled whatever creativity I once had.  But every once in a while I still dream of writing the great American novel, or at least a decent chick-lit tear jerker.  I imagine that I can write at least as well as some of the authors that wind up on the bestseller list these days.  But then...

Then I read something like "The Gravedigger's Daughter" by Joyce Carol Oates, and I am put in my place.  I read the entire 582 pages on my trip to Washington a couple of weeks ago.  It wasn't my favorite book ever, or even my favorite by JCO (that would have to be "We Were the Mulvaneys"), but there is no denying this kind of writing.  Never in a million years could I craft something this complex, this powerful...which I guess explains why she is an award winning author and I'm just a frustrated lawyer.

But a girl can dream, right?