
You’ll never know who you'll end up meeting when carrying out your day-to-day activities.
The other afternoon, on my way back from the city, I hopped on my train, found a quiet seat away from the crowd and whipped out my WIP for the journey home. I write my WIP in longhand during my commutes to and from the city, and transcribe it to my netbook when I get home. This time, I only had my iPod with me. I had forgotten to put my paper and pen in my bag the night before.
I sat in my seat, minding my own business, pecking away at my manuscript, when the passenger next to me, who looked no older than twenty, pulled out some paper and a pen. She also began to write. I chuckled to myself, feeling familiar, knowing she had the same idea I had.
Anyway, an hour later, a few minutes before my stop, I took a chance and asked her the question pressing against my brain the whole ride, "Are you a writer?"
All of a sudden, I felt like an idiot. I thought to myself, of course she’s a writer, you nitwit, can’t you see she's writing?
But, hold on, it doesn’t end there. Nooooo, no. I felt more of an idiot when she answers, as serious as a skydiver over a gator farm in the Everglades, "Yes, I am."
Now, before your thoughts drift to the Nether Reaches of Pickup-ville (tsk-tsk, Jack), I must admit something—just so you know I'm an honorable man—I've never met a writer or author before. Yep. You heard me right. Never. And I'm not in the habit of starting conversations with strangers either (although I’m very good at it).
So you can imagine my nervousness and my subsequent dialog thereafter. "Are you on Twitter?" I blurted out. No discretion whatsoever. I didn't even ask about her WIP, her project genre or any of the obvious questions. Nope. I went straightaway for the pot of gold, "Are you on Twitter?"
Total fool.
She hesitated a second then trusted her instincts, "Yeah, I am."
She smiled at my fumbling.
I then rambled some incoherent babblings of a buffoon in the making, "I write my manuscript in longhand too. When I get home, I transcribe it to my netbook. Is that what you do? It looks like you do that too. You do, don’t you? It looks like it. It is, isn’t it?"
Complete basket case.
She said, "Mmm-hmm, only because I didn't bring my notebook with me today."
She smiled. I smiled back.
By that time, my stop had arrived, of which she probably thanked God it was the end of the chat. I kid you not. My first author encounter and I act like a total goofball, high on Trippy Lube Oil fumes.
GOSH!
Now, I’m curious. Ever meet a fellow author this way? If not, when was your first author encounter? And—am I the only derfwad who handled their first like a dorky schoolboy?
Uh-hu, it’s okay to laugh at me, ‘cause if you can’t laugh at me, who can you laugh at?
This Week's Kudos – I would like to thank the following folks for their most awesome blogs!
- Sarah Kernochan – At Home With a Ghost: A restless writer of fiction, film, and music. Scripted such films as 9 and ½ Weeks, Sommersby, Impromptu (personal favorite), What Lies Beneath, and All I Wanna Do which she also directed. Both documentaries, Marjoe and Thoth, won Academy Awards.
- Alyson Peterson – Dirty Green Jello: An artist/cook/musician/writer/mom who has way too much time on her hands... obviously. Write and paint like a crazy woman, usually when she should be cooking dinner. She burn things a lot.
- Melanie Conklin – Flash Fiction on SatSunTails: A NY based writer and designer. Relentlessly creative and fundamentally optimistic. Currently, capturing the magic of The Great Exhibition of 1851 in Clockmakers, a story of dreams, inventions, and escape.
Finally, I leave you my quote for the week. These are the words that sum up everything I've learned or experienced these past seven days.
"Just think, right now as you read this, some guy somewhere is gettin’ ready to hang himself."
~George Carlin

