Sometimes wonderful surprises come in the mail. Today was one of those days.  A week or so ago it was announced that a never before published short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald would be appearing the The Strand, a well-known literary magazine.  To say that Fitzgerald is my favorite author is kind of like saying the Freedom Tower is a tall building.  Or that the ocean is pretty deep.  Talk about an understatement.  Fitzgerald, to me, is the gold standard.  He came to represent an era--the 1920s Jazz Age (a term he coined btw), but more than that, he came to represent what kind of magic can occur when a true genius puts pen to paper.  The word genius is thrown around way too often these days, but in F. Scott's case it's apropos.  No one I've ever come across can form a story like he can or make made cap comedy seem so real life.  So you can imagine my excitement today when my copy of the magazine appeared in my mailbox. No way I was reading this online.  I wanted to experience it the way Fitz would have wanted--in a magazine.  On paper. And I wasn't disappointed.  Written towards the end of his life, when he felt un appreciated and was ill, this story has a tinge of sadness in it, but there's laughter, and twists and turns.  If you can get your hands on it, read it.  
     I make it my business to read something by Fitzgerald at least once a month, if only to remind myself what writing is supposed to be like.  It's kind of an obsession of mine--to the point where my kids say he's like my dead husband. (He was actually Zelda's husband til the end!) And then there's the embarrassing photo of me with his gravestone, which I probably shouldn't share here, but what the heck? Some gals search out where Jim Morrison is buried, but for me, Fitz is the ultimate literary rock star.  Have a great rest of the summer.  And if you're so inclined, reread the Great Gatsby...
xo
N