"Why not?" Mark Frost responded. "If studio life costs you enough, it becomes art. You've got to have a good reason to give to your people back home in Ohio or Indiana or somewhere."
"But everybody wasn't born in the Ohio valley, thank God," the semitic man said. Fairchild stared at him, kind and puzzled, a trifle belligerent. "I speak for those of us who read books instead of writing them," he explained. "Its bad enough to grow into the conviction after you reach the age of discretion that you are to spend the rest of your life writing books, but to have your very infancy darkened by the possibility that you may have to write the Great American Novel..."