every day in 2016, write a sentence or a paragraph or a poem that appreciates
Raymond Chandler
Oh! Oh! Oh! I useta love detective stories, then I discovered Philip Marlowe. Damn! He just about ruined detective stories for me forever! Fortunately, along about then, a collection of women began writing detective stories with similarly jaded detectives, detectives who recognize that everyone they question tells some truth and some lies, and sometimes don't know which is which. Their worlds so resembled my own! But back to Philip and Raymond Chandler, his creator. I don't know his world: lots of money, sometimes gobs and geewhillikerses of money, acquaintances of BFD local politicians and real estate moguls, lieutenants and captains in organized crime, idle rich, not so idle rich. I don't know those people but Raymond Chandler convinced me for a few minutes that I did, through him, and I bless him for his writing that convincingly. Almost, I would wish him back, but that writing would seem quaint these days. The forties and fifties are gone, and I can attest to good riddance. But thank you, Raymond Chandler, for creating a world I could believe in, and recognize as a shadow of my own even if I don't know the people who make our world move like it does. May you have found whatever Valhalla there is for writers.
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