Everybody Writes, 2nd Edition



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Last Tuesday, for the first time in my life, I did a push-up. That wouldn't be remarkable for most of you, probably. It might seem even pathetic.

But for me it was an occasion to celebrate. It capped five (!) months of hard work that followed a lifetime of thinking of myself as spectacularly incapable.

I hail from a stunningly unathletic family: most of us are more Eeyore than Seabiscuit. We are the ones picked last for the team, the ones who are afraid of the ball. And I was (literally) a 100-pound weakling. So the idea of my being capable of a push-up (or 5, or 10, or—maybe, eventually—50 or more!) seemed as improbable as my writing this in Russian.

* * *

I wrote that ^^ in the Introduction of the first edition of this book, eight years ago.

Still today, when I meet fans of this book in person, the number one question they ask me isn't What's your best writing secret? Or Will you read my work? Or Oh I thought you were Tina Fey.

(That last one isn't a question; it was a comment I once got in a hotel lobby from a woman who bolted toward me from across the room, mistaking me for Tina. (Was it the glasses? The hair? Her bad eyesight? IDK.) She said it in a voice flat with disappointment and also … is that an accusation? Like I'd scammed her out of a million dollars?)

Anyway … the number one question isn't any of those. It's this:

How many push-ups can you do now?

It's a funny question. But it makes sense.

We all want to know … Did the effort deliver ...