Nice to know you

So I found the book, All The Sad Young Literary Men by Keith Gessen, jutting out from the ledges of our staircase, sandwiched in between other books I haven't even touched for years, and just days before, I remembered our Creative Director--one of those esteemed people you meet in an ad agency, the one who won in festivals like Cannes Lions--borrow it from my makeshift shelf in my desk some years ago. Maybe she was intrigued by the cover? After a week or two she brought it back, asked me nonchalantly if I ever thought of becoming a copywriter. Preposterous, I thought, but I think I said something within the lines of a maybe and a no. Definitely not a yes. Then I had a crazy idea: what if she hid a message in one of the pages?

So I flipped it open and didn't see anything.

But opened it I did, and read the first 70 pages in a frenzy. And I thought I won't be reading a book in ages? Two weeks without a smartphone meant no articles about books, no Spotify songs, no unwanted ads, no Mocha Uson commentary. Just pure, unadulterated time with a real book!

This happened while I was attending an event for work just this afternoon, sitting in one of those workshops on theatre, listening and doing post-even documentation. It felt a lot like a fiction workshop, to be honest: there was a lot of energy and experimentation, and I was green with envy.