Why is the best stuff always written about authors right after they die? I’d like to request a similar quantity of analysis–right now!–of the writing of Don Delillo, Tom Wolfe, John Irving, and, oh, Junot Diaz as that we’ve seen lately of Updike, Mailer, et al.
Anyway, enjoyed this piece about Updike by Sam Anderson in New York magazine. For one, it gave me more appreciation of writing small. (My predeliction–for reading and writing–tends to swing toward the epic.) For another, there’s this:
His solution to the daily crisis of inspiration was simply not to have it: He wrote steadily, with very little angst, three pages a day, five days a week.