"Why do you call him Jack?"
Not exactly what you expect when you pick up the phone but given the caller, not a real surprise. She continued, not terribly interested in the Jack answer, "when did you start writing? Why? Where do you come up with this stuff?".
She rarely waits for answers, her normal speed being in excess of 100 miles per hour, even on the phone. And it's been that way as long as I've known her, which at this point is a very long time. Years ago, when she was my boss, she would come racing in, bags everywhere, hair flying, perfectly put together suit just a bit askew, "what are we going to eat for lunch today?" and then back to her office to deposit all that she carried. At the time she was living a life I found fascinating, a little exotic and completely engrossing. One morning, after an hour of reliving the previous night's adventures, she looked at me and said, "why do I tell you all this? I tell you everything", and I hoped that was true, because if she was leaving something out, her evenings had to be pure fiction. They weren't, and I continued to be enchanted, leaving my boring life behind when she came flying into the store.
Now I see her once, sometimes twice a year. They come to our annual holiday party and rave about the food, thus securing an invitation to all future events. Last year we asked for donations, en lieu of much appreciated hostess gifts, for the elderly people at church, who are often overlooked at Christmas. She arrived with the largest bag of loot possible, including hand knit hats and mittens. She is as generous as she is crazy.
"David! Get on the phone, David!"
David got on, all three of us now connected, as she began to rant about my writing, imploring David to do something, "don't you know anyone? We have to help her, who can we send this to?".
David did know someone, and David did send off my writing to a friend, a writer, who liked what he read.
Maybe this will propel me to greatness, and maybe it won't. Having a well known writer like what you have to say is wonderful, having friends who believe in you is even better.
2 comments:
Hmmm, whomever could you be talking about? :-)
P.S. Great blog.
"Let the wild rumpus start!"
Maurice probably had a crazy friend who was married to a man who also knew a writer who liked his work!
I will happily say, "I knew her when..."
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