salience
November 9, 2003
After much convincing, I've done it. I've written and sent a letter to Mr. Chuck Palahniuk. Huge. This is huge. Admitting a fascination to the source himself. We'll see what it brings:
Mr. Palahniuk,
Dearest Mr. Chuck? Sir? How am I to address you, exactly? You see I have this problem of articulating my respect for you and your work. Aside from the vanity of associating myself with the idea of someday creating consistently, as you have done, I can only forward your name to others so that they may be afforded an opportunity to enrich their own lives. It is true, I am a Junior, Finance major, Spanish minor, barely scraping enough money together to pay for this Jesuit hierarchy I have elected to attend, yet I still manage to read as much of your material as possible.
Take a recent weekend endeavor for example. I had been awaiting the release of Diary for some time now. With $20 (mistake #1) in my pocket I found a window of time to grab a few of my friends (mistake #2) and run downtown to the Barnes n Noble’s (mistake #3). Upon arriving, I quickly found your books, complete with a Diary display. Yet, in my euphoria I had forgotten the work was only out in hardcover (mistake #1), thereby leaving my $20 shamed in its uselessness. But noticing there was an hour until the store closed, I took the most pristine copy of Diary within reach, determined to find a cozy spot in which to read. However, it being the weekend, Teen Angst was out in full force, especially in such a prominent establishment (mistake #3), leaving me little choice save for a bench near the rear window. It was a little too close to Help Desk Woman yes, but it was better than standing near the display under the watchful eye of Security Guard. Friends stayed close (mistake #2) while I devoured the first 100 pages. Every time my mind screamed from your words, I would seize an arm, a wrist, a finger, anything to bring me outside of myself again. The system worked well, I thought, until I realized not only was I causing friends pain, but I was an embarrassment to them as well. No one wants to be associated with that psycho by the window who can’t read in an intelligent, refined, collegiate manner. No matter, even though I could not legally leave with the work, at least I had experienced part of it.
And now I wait. Wait for someone I know to buy it, to read it, to tell me they’ve read it, and then to find an opportunity to wrench it from their clenched, possessive hands for just one hour please because I need to know how many more times Misty will stab her comatose Peter in the hospital, how many more times she will ask, “Can you feel this?” Alas until that glorious day, I remain a constant to The Cult site, reading excerpts over and over and over and over…
Oh I digress. Really the point of this correspondence is to thank you. Thank you for your characters, your plots, your ideas, your catchphrases. But above all, thank you for the obsession you have sparked within us all. Thank you for a recognition of the substantial.
Sincerely yours.
Mr. Palahniuk,
Dearest Mr. Chuck? Sir? How am I to address you, exactly? You see I have this problem of articulating my respect for you and your work. Aside from the vanity of associating myself with the idea of someday creating consistently, as you have done, I can only forward your name to others so that they may be afforded an opportunity to enrich their own lives. It is true, I am a Junior, Finance major, Spanish minor, barely scraping enough money together to pay for this Jesuit hierarchy I have elected to attend, yet I still manage to read as much of your material as possible.
Take a recent weekend endeavor for example. I had been awaiting the release of Diary for some time now. With $20 (mistake #1) in my pocket I found a window of time to grab a few of my friends (mistake #2) and run downtown to the Barnes n Noble’s (mistake #3). Upon arriving, I quickly found your books, complete with a Diary display. Yet, in my euphoria I had forgotten the work was only out in hardcover (mistake #1), thereby leaving my $20 shamed in its uselessness. But noticing there was an hour until the store closed, I took the most pristine copy of Diary within reach, determined to find a cozy spot in which to read. However, it being the weekend, Teen Angst was out in full force, especially in such a prominent establishment (mistake #3), leaving me little choice save for a bench near the rear window. It was a little too close to Help Desk Woman yes, but it was better than standing near the display under the watchful eye of Security Guard. Friends stayed close (mistake #2) while I devoured the first 100 pages. Every time my mind screamed from your words, I would seize an arm, a wrist, a finger, anything to bring me outside of myself again. The system worked well, I thought, until I realized not only was I causing friends pain, but I was an embarrassment to them as well. No one wants to be associated with that psycho by the window who can’t read in an intelligent, refined, collegiate manner. No matter, even though I could not legally leave with the work, at least I had experienced part of it.
And now I wait. Wait for someone I know to buy it, to read it, to tell me they’ve read it, and then to find an opportunity to wrench it from their clenched, possessive hands for just one hour please because I need to know how many more times Misty will stab her comatose Peter in the hospital, how many more times she will ask, “Can you feel this?” Alas until that glorious day, I remain a constant to The Cult site, reading excerpts over and over and over and over…
Oh I digress. Really the point of this correspondence is to thank you. Thank you for your characters, your plots, your ideas, your catchphrases. But above all, thank you for the obsession you have sparked within us all. Thank you for a recognition of the substantial.
Sincerely yours.
lasaliente, 16:22
