He recognizes the validation that comes with being published, just as he believes that "for a true novel there is generally no substitute for slow, slow baking." Gardner also has strong feelings about what kinds of workshops help (and whom they help), and what kinds hinder. Gardner, a fiction writer himself ( Grendel), knows in his bones the desperate questioning of a writer who's not sure he's up to the task. Gardner's sympathetic On Becoming a Novelist is the novelist's ultimate comfort food-better than macaroni and cheese, better than chocolate. He is not hell-bent on publication he is trying to write "serious, honest fiction, the kind of novel that readers will find they enjoy reading more than once, the kind of fiction likely to survive." He's likely to have no idea whether he's succeeding. His college friends are cashing in on their dot-coms and wondering if he's ever going to join the real world. His spouse has a "real" job, or perhaps he has a trust fund.
He toils alone at a pace not so different from that of Lincoln Tunnel traffic at rush hour in New York. Picture the poor, young, serious-fiction writer.
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