I'm at a print audition today for Propecia - the hair growth pill that pregnant women shouldn't touch - and I walk into the room with the current book I'm reading, The Historian. It's a little heavy at 642 pages, but it's fiction and it's about vampires, so I thought it would be worth committing to.
There are two people waiting in the room, a photographer and his assistant. I set my book down on the floor and their eyes go wide.
"Are you going to read that?" he asks.
"I'm in the process of reading it, actually."
"I've never read a book that big," the assistant gasps.
I nod. "You know, I don't read it all at once." They stare at me, confused. "I take breaks."
The photographer nods absently. "Ok, let's push it out of the way..."
I've never really thought of LA the way a lot of East Coasters do. Like it's some cultural vaccuum. And I've never thought of show business that way, either, believe it or not. I've actually worked with a lot of well-read, talented people who go to museums and stuff.
But after that exchange, I suddenly felt very alone. I thought, "I bet no one would give me shit in New York or Boston or San Francisco for the size of my book." I also felt arrogant. Like, who the hell was I to parade my intelligence around like that, making the rest of the world feel small and stupid?
Then I thought, 'Jesus. My blog postings are probably too long. Who the hell wants to read about my neighbors for more than a few paragraphs, if at all? Why am I even bothering to write, for God's sake?'
So I ran home to get it all down.