Okay, I've gotten that out of my system, and I apologize for it. We, the barely published, are quick to righteousness when it comes to the evils of the publishing industry. The letter will probably make for the beginnings of a story told to a howling audience at a cocktail party somewhere. And he would be right in his amusement, for no writer worth pen and paper begins a career with the overt goal of achieving Grisham-esque celebrity. The odds against fame and fortune are far too great.
Books live on in libraries.
I'm not talking about posterity. I don't know about that. Well, I am talking about posterity. Somewhere in America is an editor who, sincere in his belief in George Garrett's demise, still wants to publish his poetry. It gives me the creeps to write about, and I hope George won't mind the subject too much, but that letter hints at a future in which Garrett's words will outlive him.