Nothing annoys me more than a doctor writing a novel. Oh my god, I’m annoyed just typing it. Over the holidays I was at a book shopping event my girls Claire and Kate organized and I picked up this book Northwoods only to be accosted by the fact that the author was not only a doctor, but a Pulitzer Prize nominee. I threw the book down in disgust.
LEAVE SOME FOR THE REST OF US, DAN. GAH.
A few weeks later, when my feelings were less hurt by such interdisciplinary genius, Northwoods arrived in the mail. I’ve been thinking about why I’m so triggered by doctor-authors. Obviously it’s jealousy and my own bullshit, but like, my god, I definitely don’t have the time to save somebody’s life AND write an award winning novel. Right now I don’t even have the time to lead a university’s content strategy, parent my teen, take care of my dog, cat, and apartment, exercise, go to the dentist, cook and clean, wait for my car to defrost, commute in Chicago winter traffic, wash the duvet covered in snowy…
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