“An epic novel that tells the story of a family across three generations, [it] became an international best-seller and enabled her to quit her job and devote all of her time to writing.”

That brought an end to communal joy
And the start of isolation, leaving behind
Co-workers and shared commitment
To a greater goal than the self’s product,

The end of daily sociability that began
In the parking lot and extended to the caf
And the parties at generous houses—
All traded in for a coffee break

Alone in the kitchen, the typewriter
Holding the hard-won images you culled
That morning haunted by the specter
Of a best-seller that brought you

Riches and fame that you can never match
Hard as you try, and you understand, maybe,
Why Ellison never completed his second
And Salinger never matched Catcher

And O’Toole took his life before his baby
Ever had its birth, leaving Mother
To market it and reap whatever,
And you know that the phrase

Devote all one’s time to writing
Is boilerplate and contra natura
Because no one can do that any more
Than Casanova could devote all his time

To whatever, and so you fortify your coffee
With the Drambuie you can now so easily
Afford and you light up another
Coffin nail because nothing matters

Anymore because you’re a best-seller
And your publisher will publish anything
You send him and put the name
Of your best-seller on the cover
In letters bigger than your new title
And you’ll go on tour to the blockbusters
In three-dozen large cities and give
More boring interviews than you can bear,

And you could cry at the irony
Of all the strivers in writing programs
Who steal moments from friends,
Families, and fruitful work

In the hope of writing a best-seller
And ending up like you.