As an individual solipsized in In Praise of Messy Lives I sometimes Google myself under the name I was given, which yielded this link.
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As an individual solipsized in In Praise of Messy Lives I sometimes Google myself under the name I was given, which yielded this link.Katie is, as when I knew her, a journalist. Part of our long conversation during the Spring of 1988 included preferences in pen & paper. At the time she favored felt tips, and the black-bound artists' sketchbooks always in ready supply at that stationery store on Mass Ave. She noted everything down in them, and fanatically guarded their privacy. I liked the thinner unlined notebooks sold at the Coop & to this day will pick a fountain pen over any other utensil.I have no idea what tools she uses now, but she still draws on words--frequently the words of others--to lend substance to her thoughts. She is driven & pointed; I never knew her to doodle. She describes our pastiche of a friendship in a pastiche of Nabokov for example, a series of nasty verbal stunts executed by an unreliable narrator. Very amusing.More generally, she is accused of speaking of & from a privileged position. That blurry world of taxis and cocktails and swell hotels has always been useful, in both fact and fiction, so it hardly matters how she's using it. But I would suggest class is what separated us--not a boy, or mortal beauty. I guess she has not read An American Tragedy. Gee!