I wanted to be a writer. (I realize I am a writer of a sort — it pays the bills and I rather enjoy it — but it’s not precisely what I had in mind when I was younger.)
I wanted to be a writer like Anne Beatts. Maybe you don’t know her name but trust me you know her work.
It didn’t happen. I mean, it still could happen, but it is getting much less likely — I have a mortgage, I’m perimenopausal and I’m a lot lazier than I used to be.
So friends, I am asking for your help. I’ve decided that I must go to LA and take a class. Not just any class — Anne Beatts’ class.
If all of you, my treasured readers, send me $10, I’ll have $80 or $90 towards my goal.
Will you help? I’m not getting younger, people.