Original- by Richard Ford in The Sportswriter
Plenty of times I've seen writers, famous novelists and essayists, even poets, with names you'd recognize and whose work I admire, drift through these offices on one high-priced assignment or other. I have seen the anxious, weaselly lonely looks in their eyes, seen them sit at the desk we give them in a far cubicle, put their feet up and start at once to talk in loud, jokey, bluff, inviting voices, trying like everything to feel like members of the staff, holding court, acting like good guys, ready to give advice or offer opinions on anything anybody wants to know. In other words, having the time of their lives.
And who could blame them? Writers — all writers — need to belong. Only for real writers, unfortunately, their club is a club with just one member.
Weaker version
I have seen many writers, famous novelists, essayists and even poets whose work I admire come in through this office while working on a high-price assignment. They looked anxious and lonely while they sat at their cubicles and putting their feet up, told jokes in loud voices, trying hard to fit in with other members of the staff. They acted like good guys and were ready to offer opinions. All writers seem to want to belong. Sadly, their club is a club with just one member.