where the writers are
A Nebulous Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald

Dear Scott,
     Did I tell you that when I part my son's hair down the middle, he looks something like you did in your photos?  Although, he smiles a lot more than I think you did.
     Recently, at a friend's yard sale, I picked up a copy of Zelda's biography, and I can't wait to read it.  Several years back, there was a descent biopic done about you and Zelda; Timothy Hutton did a great acting job as you (as much as I can imagine).  The lovely, late Natasha Richardson played the torments of your wife.  Maybe you know all of this, as you look upon this earth from your comfortable overstuffed armcahir.  In fact, maybe you're having a good laugh about it all.
     Scott, did you believe in a god when you were in the flesh?  Did Zelda?  Maybe you would have been more content to let things pass by you.  You lived so much in the moment, didn't you?  And not in a hunting and fishing (or dancing and drinking) kind of way.  You were the moment.  For the solid juncture in time that you were able to capture in words, now you are immortal.  At least to me, you are.
     Want to hear something else?  Sometimes I feel like you're sitting next to me: relaxed, legs crossed, pensive.  This feeling is warm and joyous -- kind of how I would describe spirituality.  All is right.
     Well, I can only hope to one day capture something as you did.  My writing style is different, but I'm equally a romantic at heart -- a tragic romantic, aye?!