Human Relationships

Journaling with Fran Lebowitz

Lassoing the Dream

Over the past few months, I’ve been spending more time in the Garden than on Facebook. Nearly everyone I know tells me they’d like to get off of Facebook. Some actually do that. I have one son who is 45 and he has NEVER been on Facebook. My other son keeps an account as a repository for travel photos and that’s it. He occasionally views friends’ posts, but rarely if ever engages there.

I’m so proud of them.

Both my sons grew up knowing that I was a writer. I kept journals. But I kept more books than journals.

I was always surrounded by way too many books — as if that were ever possible, but it is, depending on the book titles— and there was a time that my collection rivaled Fran Lebowitz’s book collection if measured by volume. I have no way to tell you if the Fran Lebowitz I tagged here on Medium is the Fran Lebowitz, or just an opportunistic name pilferer. It’s so hard to tell on social media. How does one truly vette anymore?

I was one of the first independent book sellers on amazon.com. That was back in the day — you might not remember it — when the ONLY thing that amazon sold was books. This was before Powell’s or Goodwill or anyone else knew anything about how to negotiate their technology. I was still working for IBM at the time. I set up an account and started to sell the overflow books.

Bookstores were starting to go out of business, so acquiring more books and bookshelves was easy. They were practically being given away. I made some decent spare change during those years.

Those were the days amazon was friendly to their independent sellers. They’ve since forgotten who made them who they later became. Not that I wish to take any credit whatsoever for who they later became.

It was also before the market became flooded with other book sellers, who decided that the race to the bottom game was a good idea, and basically deflated the value of nearly every book I owned to be worth a penny each. That’s when I got out of that game.

I donated the whole book collection — between 30,000 and 40,000 titles — to my local city library as a fund raiser. It was their most successful fundraiser ever. That year the library made plans and started the work to purchase an abandoned IBM building where the software engineers used to huddle and discuss the next great computer features no one yet knew they needed. That book donation helped create a stunningly gorgeous satellite library. So I guess it was worth it. Someday I’ll take Fran to visit it. I’ll protect her anonymity of course. If she cares about that sort of thing.

I’ve since started a new library collection. My last collection was mostly built on donations that people gave me, and some purchases I made — ten cents to fifty cents a book was the going price. This new collection is built on everything I care about. It’s an examination, and a refresh in human thought, not just more hero’s journey drivel and ancient stoic wisdom that all the guys go gaga over. More like bias busting, neurocentric, futuristic imaginings of what might actually be possible for humanity if our ancient polyvagal systems would just stop searching for the mastodons and sabertooths most certainly always emerging from the modern nevergreen jungles.

I recently watched the Scorcese and Lebowitz production streaming on Netflix, called, “Pretend It’s a City.” It’s one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever watched on Netflix. Just in time too, as I was beginning to doubt that Netflix would ever do anything worthwhile with that pile of money they are sitting on.

It was so inspiring, it made me want to write again. Daily. Several times a day. To make up for all those books Fran didn’t write since she was too busy sulking.

Words have always been sacred to me. Listening to hers sent me into an orgasmic state of joyful delight. I wanted to immediately go purchase her books. Only to find out — there aren’t any.

But there are essays. Wonderful — my favorite writing form. That, and satire.

She’s my age, more or less. Also born in the 1950s, her humor resonates for me. I now want to finagle a way to spend an afternoon with Fran. I think we’ll be great friends. I’ll cook for her. If she likes to eat, we’ll certainly be great friends.

Would that be intimidating? Spending an afternoon with Fran Lebowitz?

NO! I’d be giddy. Imagine the stories I could write. Maybe we’d come away from the gathering, planning our collaboration. Yes — a book by Susan Brearley and Fran Lebowitz.

Okay, she can have top billing. I don’t really care about that. I was just alphabetizing. Structure and organization are important to me.

I can be flexible.

If you are the real Fran Lebowitz and you are reading this, please contact me. Or write your first Medium post. We could play Medium journaling tag.

I’m also easy to find. Everything about me is public. I’ve had web presence since the 1990s. In fact, I think my first website, aforapple.com, was something I created before many Medium writers were born. Not all Medium writers — just, many.

It might really be her. After all, her page says she hasn’t written any stories yet. That seems authentic.

If the Medium account belonging to Fran Lebowitz is not authentic, well, what were you thinking? Who would have the audacity? Besides, you can see what it got you. TWO FOLLOWERS.

One of whom is me.

© Susan Brearley, 2021 All Rights Reserved

Susan B. is a serial entrepreneur, writer, editor, poet and ship captain. Come find her in the Garden.