Danny Goodman Archive Random

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Isn’t that the joy of fiction? To probe for fresh experience rather than perpetuate received wisdom? Why turn out endless variations on what we have already done well; what our reviewers, and friends and family, too, assure us we do best; what everyone feels most comfortable with and what might sell. Why not explore new territory and also new means of getting there when that seems necessary? … I think serious writers stretch themselves, however subtly, and stretch their good readers, too—otherwise, why do it? There are many too many formulaic novels published already. In paying attention to what publishers or readers may expect of us, one is no longer an artist but an artisan, however gifted.

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Carl, a transplant to New York, saw in Maya another soul isolated amidst the throng. He took her home that night and called her again, even after the postcoital brunch when she warned him of her ‘baggage.’ How stunning she’d been that morning, in her T-shirt with the collar cut out, her dark hair falling across her face like a pixie girl in the movies.