He looks like the average Joe: grey t-shirt layered with an unbuttoned, yellow flannel shirt, dark denim jeans and black shoes, matching yellow socks peeking below the hem of his pants. Eyes are locked on to him, ears perked in anticipation as he takes his place at the podium centered in the middle of the spectator-filled room.
His mouth opens to speak and as he begins talking about why he wrote his novel Lush Life from which he is going to conduct his reading, listeners whether familiar or unfamiliar with his works, have to note this is no average Joe. This is Richard Price.
An accomplished writer with eight novels, ten films and a television series under his belt, the reason for Price’s success can be seen alone in the prologue of Lush Life. His unconventional descriptions are products of his dry humor and keen sense of observation which he refers to as being “a fly on the wall” when gathering information for this book.
Despite the complexity of the language with which he writes, his tone is relaxed as he coolly reads through the first couple of pages of his New York Times bestseller like he had done it a million times, rarely fumbling over his words.
Perhaps the most captivating quality of Price is just how down-to-earth he is which combats with the reality of his achievements. Quite the character with his sarcasm-laced speech, dry jokes that he himself doesn’t laugh at and a wealth of knowledge evident in his work, Price’s persona commands attention like an air horn going off in a silent room.
Price’s deception continues as he reads the opening of a work in progress, eliciting the laughter of the audience for his humorous yet reality-based mimicry of an evangelist preacher. His portrayal is right on the mark, capturing the true spirit of his subject. This man has clearly spent a lot of time listening as much as he has spent writing, “being a sponge” as he put it.
To appease wondering minds, a question-and-answer segment follows Price’s bonus reading; finally the people before him can find out what makes him tick. Maybe, just maybe, the answers he provides will magically transfix themselves deep into the inquirer, a tiny portion of his linguistic genius rubbing off.
Price addreses several questions from the audience: “What made you write about that particular murder?” , “How do you know when you’ve done enough research to begin writing?” , “Did you actually ride around with cops?” Perhaps the one question-and-answer that reminded everyone he was human was when a young lady asked about his writing process. He admits there’s no rhythm or rhyme to it; there are period when he experiences writer’s block and “I don’t write,” Price says; just one of the many quip answers he provides. For a man who has written so much, he’s brief in his remarks. Yet, they are never lacking in clarity.