Over the weekend I was reading Wendell's What Are People For? and came across the essay "A Few Words in Favor of Edward Abbey" and was instantly an Abbey fan. The next day I goggled (yes, goggled) Abbey and came across his essay "Down the River with Henry Thoreau." I enjoyed the progression (or would it be a regression) from Berry to Abbey to Thoreau. Now if someone would just write a "With Wendell Berry" essay...So at this point in my life I have read a sum total of one piece by Edward Abbey and I am now a lifelong fan. I was also inspired. Reading Berry's analysis of Abbey and Abbey's sublime analysis of Thoreau (whom I secretly hate) I found myself longing to have been an accomplished author ages ago. I wished my life away to the point where I could look back and say "yes, I am a prolific and successful writer; one who has found his voice and told his stories." I'm almost 40. I could be at that point now. I'm not now, but I will be.
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