A few weeks ago the New York Times T Magazine ran an article "Old Books, New Thoughts." Philip Roth, Jennifer Egan, Marilynne Robinson and others revisited their early work.
A very long time ago, I was a novelist. A published novelist. (So, okay, only two of the five novels I wrote made it to print. I was offered an electronic publishing deal on my fifth one. I declined, certain no one would ever want to read an entire book on a computer.)
My first novel Hell's Bells was about a woman with migraines. It was supposed to be funny. And yes, it was partly autobiographical. The rest of it was wildly extrapolated. It was dedicated "to my parents, who would like everyone to know this is a work of fiction." I wasn't worried about their reaction, but I did wonder what my in-laws would make of it.
In the Times article George Saunders spoke of revisiting "CivilWarLand in Bad Decline". "Reading these again, I found myself missing certain ghost-phrases that I was almost sure were in there, but which I obviously must have cut at some point."
Hell's Bells published a lifetime ago, in 1983. Thirty-one years later I reread it. My reaction differed from Sander's. I was surprised at how well it read and what a lovely vocabulary I once possessed.
Back in the 80's a friend said reading my novel was like having a conversation with me. Onesided. Oh well, everyone's a critic. If you want to read it, you can get it on Amazon for a penny. Plus shipping.
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