ARTHUR’S CUBICLE USED TO BE NEAR THE WATERCOOLER, BUT the bosses tired of having to chat with him each time they got thirsty.
He’s a funny man, she thinks—he strikes these bombastic poses, then shrinks when our eyes meet, as if his every intellectual foray were like being caught singing in the shower.
And you’re right about the feeling that one “knows” writers. It’s their sensibility we’re absorbing, I think. Their humor, curiosities, manner of speech, perspective, even when these are embodied in characters who are radically different from them.
On the other hand, presumably this is one reason why people write in the first place: to declare—albeit in ornamented, storified fashion—their prospect on the world.