Carol Kirkpatrick, possibly the brightest writer I ever met in a writing group (proof positive being her ability to scribble out a pithy, brilliantly crafted story on the spot) had the additional charm of treating me to an oral history of Brooklyn whenever we walked its streets together. Combining warmth, depth, humor, and subtlety well into her 90s, she will always represent perfectly what I’d like to be when I grow up. My hope is to charm you with this sample of her writing:
Mono-versations
Everyone talks. No one listens. So if you talk, you end up talking to yourself.
I have a friend who, to coin a neologism, “monoversates” at me:
“Hello, I’m better, how are you?
“Oh, I’m getting a delivery. Call me later.”
“I’m on my way to Mom’s,” she’ll say. “I’ll be back by 4:30. Call me after that.”
Is this email over telephone lines?
