Stamped and Mailed YESTERDAY

Now all there is to do is wait for a reply!
Dear Ms. Nadell,

This is somewhat of an unusual query letter.  I promise.
I’m sure that over the course of David Foster Wallace’s life and death, you received numerous fan letters c/o.  I’m sure, too, that many of them were breathtaking declarations of love, painstaking exegeses, or manifestos concerning Why DFW and I Are Spiritual/Literary Soulmates.  (Don’t you think “soul mate” should be one word?  I’m staging a one woman protest.)  I will try not to bore you with the litany of reasons I love Wallace’s work so dearly.  If I were to make an argument for the depth of my affection, I would perhaps just send you a picture of my copy of Infinite Jest, which has been dog-eared and underlined and fondled until the cover has nearly disintegrated (the whole operation is now held together by electrical tape.)  My goal here is not to convince you that I’m a phenom just like he was, or that I am attune to this contemporary universe in a way similar to the way he was.  I, in fact, have one simple question followed by one simple plea: has anyone ever brought up the possibility of making an Audiobook of Infinite Jest?  If this has been considered, well, may I audition to read it?  It would be a monumental task that will most likely end in a flawed result, as we cannot ask his clarification for pronunciations and how to handle footnotes and how to verbalize “…” and such, but nonetheless a job for which I would like to volunteer.
My desire to write, to be A Writer, I sometimes think, is really just born out of my desire to read, specifically to read aloud.  And this skill of mine, I will admit, is pretty f*$&ing honed.  I’ve spent a bulk of the past four years reading aloud in various professional capacities (I can provide references.)  The first reading gig I had was to an esteemed blind writer here in New York City who lived aloof and untouchable in an apartment filled with Sotheby’s antiques and expensive Oriental rugs.  I was intimidated by his crisp demands and very *ahem* robust ego, but at the end of my first day of reading various Times articles at a rapid pace, the writer proclaimed, “You read beautifully.”  These past three years I worked for a true crime author stricken with Lou Gehrig’s Disease and, because he has lost the ability to hold up even a sheet of paper, I had to read most of his work back to him.  I’ve always been a slightly dramatic imp and slip easily into accents or characters.  My enunciation is perfect without sounding forced or farcical.  I don’t even really need to get PAID, per se.  We can pretend someone else read it, in fact, put his or her picture on the box or on the iTunes home page.  The reason I want to do this is because I love this book, I love Foster Wallace, and I especially love Foster Wallace’s idea of love itself, a miraculous thing that you strive to feel and experience without agenda all the time.  “The art’s heart’s purpose,” he said, unabashedly.  I seek that constantly, i.e. now, in this odd proposition.
I may be in the Los Angeles area from around the 13th of July through the 20th, but please email or call me (we can TALK) for any reason you deem appropriate.
Thank you for your time!

Sincerely,
ID

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