Monroe came over to see me one day, shortly after I divorced. He had some beer. I was glad to see him. I was especially glad to see his beer.

“How you taking it?” he said.

“Pretty good, I guess.”

“Have a beer.”

“Thanks.”

“Women,” he said. “Jesus Christ.”

“Right.”

We sat there and drank his beer. I was almost out of money. I was too upset to write anything. I’d tried it a few times, and wound up just gnawing my knuckles. I was afraid I’d lost it for good. I was almost out of food, too.

“When you gonna get a job?”

“I don’t know. I need one. I need some money.”

“I can let you paint houses for me a few days.”

“Thanks, Monroe.”

I started that afternoon. It went pretty well. It was soothing, mindless work, and I didn’t have to think. I thought plenty, but not about what I was doing. What I had decided to do was just live hand to mouth. Work a few days and then quit and live off the money and write until the money was gone. Then work a few more days, and so on. It was a spur-of-the-moment plan, and as soon as I planned that, I promised myself I’d never plan anything else as long as I lived.

At the end of three days Monroe gave me a hundred and eighty dollars. I bought some food and some beer. That was all I needed. Well, two cartons of Marlboros. I had a place to stay. I had a bed, a chair, some books and records.

The first night I just sat there looking at a blank sheet of paper.

Next night, same thing. Nothing would come. I knew I’d lost it. I’d have to be a house painter for the rest of my life.

The third night I typed one paragraph and threw it away. The fourth night I started a new story.

2

I got a letter back in the mail along with a manuscript of one of my novels from an agent in New York. I read the letter while I drank a beer and smoked a cigarette. It said (along with Dear Mr. Barlow):

We are returning your novel not because it is not publishable, but because the market at this time is not amenable to novels about drunk pulpwood haulers and rednecks and deer hunting. Our comments relate more to its marketability than to its publishability, and even though this novel is hilarious in many places and extremely well-written with a good plot, real characters, refreshing dialogue, beautiful descriptions and no typographical or spelling errors, we don’t feel confident that we could place it for you. We would, however, be delighted to read anything else you have written or will write in the future.