Like your post, Charles, but I read a letter a woman wrote who knew Chekhov quite well. One cold night, leaving the theatre, they hailed a carriage. As soon as they were settled, Chekhov pulled the rug up over himself only. He could be generous at times, but he was also selfish. It’s very hard to set writers up as kind and gentle (wise, yes), but few were kind and gentle—or even considerate. Thanks for the post.

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I did a poor imitation of Don Draper for 40 years before writing my first novel. I'm currently in the final stages of a children's book. Lucky me.

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