It's discouraging to even think of writing a novel when so many great writers who should have been recognized for their talent never were.

For instance, I just read a most delightful, witty, well written little detective novel by George Baxt. I had never heard of him before. The blurb at the end of the book said he was born in 1933, and lived in New York. So I called information and got the number of the three Baxt's listed. I hoped he was still alive so I could tell him how much I enjoyed his writing.

First number didn't answer. Left a message with the second number. Third number. A pleasant voiced man answered who said Baxt was his uncle but had been dead for some years now. I was sorry to hear that. The man said a movie based on one of Baxt's books and starring Lawrence Fishburne had been in the works before his death.

Baxt introduced a character named Sylvia Plotkin, so alive with personality that I will have to search out other books of his. Such a good writer never to have heard of him, and I'm sorry about that too.

susil