Feel like I’ve sort of come to think of ‘networking’ among those in the literary scene as a very specific protocol, complete with literature-scene-specific conventions, standard displays of behavior, common language use…
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The hours I’d spent working as a waiter through the years had driven me to nearly detest their every moment. I had become consumed by a growing dislike of strangers and an even deeper revulsion at taking their food orders. I was weary with pretending to care if they liked their dinner or not. This surprise invitation from Mr. Mailer might, I thought, turn out to be a significant avenue away from it all.