from The New Yorker…

Posthumous” by Jeffrey Eugenides

I like this: write like you (instead of your parents) are dead.

“Facing up to what haunts you and finding a form and structure for it can never be a commercial enterprise. That stuff’s too chaotic and unpredictable, too messy and gorgeous, to fit a popular template. But it’s the source of your originality and may well prove popular in the end.”

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