Jeg sidder på hovedbanegårdens nye, tarvelige Starbucks og citerer Norman Mailer, som disser novellen fyrsteligt

He (NM i 3. perrson) does not have the gift to write great short stories og perhaps even very good ones. In fact, he will confess he does not have the interest, the respect or the proper awe. The short story bores him a little. He will admit he rarely reads them. He is, in secret, not fond of writers who work at short stories, Nor are they often, he suspects, fond of him. He has a private sneer for the reputations they have amassed. There is a terrible confession to make: he thinks the short story is relatively easy to write. You only have to be good for a da or a week - there is none of that arduous collaboration between character and passion, inspiration and ascetism, which goes into keeping one's balance on the teeter-totter of a novel where work goes on day after day through many a season into the years. Anyone can be good for a week, but who can be good for a year, or two, or three?

(og ja, 'novellefobi' har jeg selvfølgelig for længst tagget)