The author who wrote that is, without doubt, the most talented and popular radio personality America has seen for the past several decades. Garrison Keillor is the famous author of the stories he told about the fictitious town of Lake Wobegon, exploiting his wit, his originality, his velvet voice, his easy, languid delivery and his unique, laid-back sense of humor. He writes as well as he speaks.
In one of his novels, about the early days of radio, “WLT. A Radio Romance”, he introduces us to Buck, the almost blind baseball commentator who, in the years before television, transformed even the most boring of games into riveting, largely fabricated drama. Buck despised the sports newspaper journalists. “To him”, wrote Keillor, “newspapers were fish-wrap, and the Scribes and the Pharisees who sat poking at their typewriters in the press-box were nothing but sore losers. Nobody cared what they wrote. The game was over by the time the paper came out; their reporting was yesterday’s mashed potatoes”. (pp. 257-258)
Most writers are never published. Only a tiny fraction of manuscripts are accepted by editors, and many a determined hack with illusions about the Pulitzer or even the Nobel, has wall-papered his digs with pink slips. Why do they persist in writing ? Why, you might well ask, do I ?
Fame and fortune are not my motivators. Too unqualified for the former and, I’m happy to say, with no need of the latter, I’ve learned to live with quasi-anonymity and am lucky enough not to de-pen-d on income from products of my pen. “Scripta manent” has long been for me an illusory ersatz for the acclaim of the multitudes – who remain unaware of even the existence of this blog. In a word, I have learned to settle for less. I am, however, appreciative of the appreciation expressed by a handful of readers, themselves professional, well-known writers far more competent than I.
I write because I believe that my life-story qualifies me to contribute to the cause of contradicting the claims of the credulous. (You, faithful reader, have learned to tolerate my absolutely awful and annoying alliteration.) My pipe-dream is “Delenda Religio”; my more realistic mantra is “Ridenda Religio”. I consider myself lucky to be able – for the nonce – to ridicule religion and promote atheism. Even if few care what I write.