Detective McNulty becomes the writer Noah Soloway in The Affair. My McNulty! He’s older, thicker, and his back is waxed. He is also having more sex than most writers. For fuck’s sake he’s a NOVELIST. His editor is a wiry, vest-clad, bespectacled chap who brings up Steinbeck and expense accounts. Noah won’t compromise on his ending! The editor wants a murder! C’mon Noah! Play ball! Noah has dedicated his new novel to the woman he is having THE affair with. When Noah is out, Allison spies the pile of pages on his desk — the novel in progress. She lifts up the title page to see the dedication page: To Allison. She shivers with recognition of their love.
Who would you dedicate your book to?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: McNulty, Novelists, The Affair, writers | 11 Comments »
A writer and a douche bag walk into a bar. Hi guys. Is anybody still out there? I miss you. I know a few writers whose mouths are filled with sand. This is the winter when five writers packed a lunch and hiked the foothills of Long Island. This is when a poem got unwritten. You are always in a mitten. This day started. A girl fell to her death from a building she didn’t know was there. I saw a play that seemed true. First you hear the sentence in your head. Then a girl steps up to the bar. You are easily awakened and fitful. A bowl of applesauce sounds awfully nice right now. Will the fiction writers please stand up. Will the choir do the preaching? One chapter a month. One page a day. One sentence in front of another. And then the sky goes dark and the lights come up and two girls in Speedos stand before lockers, talking trash.
Betsy Lerner 