if you have any intention of reading Richard Perez’s The Losers’ Club don’t read any further.
i just finished this book that i thought could have been writtten by me. 30something writerguy, lonely and single, looking to the personal ads for companionship.
yeah, well can i just say i’m so disappointed i could spit? the book was beautifully written, it was great with this amazingly descriptive scene involving a mosh pit, the the ending ruined the whole thing for me.
in the end lonely, loser writerguy gets the girl. not just any girl, no the bi-sexual best friend who dumps the girlfriend for him.
that doesn’t happen in real life. loser writerpeople don’t get the beauty. they don’t get the happier ever after with their first choice. no. they get heartache and disappointment and more bitterness than one person can possibly hold in their body, and then maybe if they are really, really lucky they get someone who they can tolerate and who will tolerate their moodiness and neediness and the fact that sometimes they get so lost inside their own head it might not seem like they’ll ever find their way back.
or at least that’s the way i think it happens in real life. that’s the way it should happen for 30ish lonely, bitter loser writergirls.