First of all, a public service announcement that will only matter to a few of you: If you called me or tried to send a text message in the past two days, there is a very good reason I haven't responded. My cell phone was locked in my car trunk. I realized this today when I was driving home from Union with no radio playing because I wanted to think, and I kept wondering why I was hearing faint electronica dance music emanating from the back of the car. To the four people who left voice messages and the three who left text messages, I'm sorry. I wasn't ignoring you. I was just being my usual scatterbrained self.
Losing my cell phone in an awkward place isn't necessarily momentous; for me, it's more of a weekly occurrence. No, I titled my post the way I did because of something else that happened to me today. I met
Kate Klise!!! Kate Klise, the author!!! Kate Klise, one of my writing idols!!! When I heard she would be giving a presentation at the Scenic Regional Library, I went into my special file box, the one that contains all the writing that has ever inspired me, and I dug out one of the columns from her stint as a columnist for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. It's always been a dream of mine to meet her and have an opportunity to tell her what her writing means to me, because she taught me through her words that it's not only okay to laugh at yourself, sometimes it's the only way to cope.
When I made it to the library today, I walked toward the meeting room, my knees knocking, my mouth dry and the underarms of my shirt completely drenched, and there she was, standing in the front of the room! We were a small group, so I had a chance right at the start to show her the column I had saved. She laughed and told me she had actually been fired from that job and I did the inward wince/cringe because, you know, leave it to me to bring up what was most likely a painful memory. But then she told me that not long afterward, when she was snowed in her house, she found an advertisement for a fountain designer and that little ad was the start of her first children's book,
Regarding the Fountains. She also told me that the editor who let her go from the Post later called her with questions about breaking into the childrens' book industry. Although she ultimately took the high road, when I recognized the look of evil glee that crossed her face while she was relating this, I knew that my adoration for her had not been misplaced. (And how can you not love an author who named one of her characters "Dick Tater?" I mean, really.)
During her informative and entertaining presentation/writing workshop, I'm afraid I sat there with a big, goofy grin on my face, nodding my head enthusiastically like one of those bobble-head car dogs. I couldn't help it. So much of what she said resonated with me, from the disastrous barber shop haircut at a young age (although my look was more "Little Dutch Boy" than "Shaun Cassidy"), early critique of our work, the amazing ability of our minds to be distracted when we're trying to write, and the necessity of being willing to write badly. During the question-answer session at the end, I babbled about Zack and the stories he writes and nurturing his creative spirit. I also admitted, rather sheepishly, that I was a blogger. I think what I actually said was "one of those annoying mommy bloggers - ha, ha." And then her eyes kind of lit up. She loves to read blogs, she said. (!!!) She'd like to check out my blog, she said. (!!!!!!!!)
Now imagine this. Imagine you're a baseball player. Maybe a minor star for your podunk town league, batting about .200 at best. Then you find out that Stan Musial is giving a presentation the next town over. So you head over to soak up a little wisdom and somewhere during the course of his talk he says, 'Oh, you play ball? Well, maybe I'll have to come watch you some time." It was like that for me.
At the end of the presentation, Kate graciously signed the yellowed column I brought along and signed a copy of her book,
Over My Dead Body for Zack. Then she wrote my LiveJournal user name in great big letters across a manila folder. (!!!!!!!!) I'm sorry to say at that point I lost all decorum and tailed her around the room while she was packing up, blathering on (again!) about how much I Iove her writing and how we like to tell stories around the dining room table as a family and how I had a giant Barbie head makeup thing when I was a little girl and how much it looked like My Little Hooker when I was finished with it, and then, to my utter chagrin, I treated her to a re-enactment, complete with arm flapping and loud squealing, of my reaction to the news that she was giving a workshop in Union. She had the good grace to smile politely and I had the good sense to leave before she had to beat me into submission with the power cord from her laptop.
I walked out of the library today not a changed person, but with the understanding that I had just received a message I needed to hear. The message went like this: Kate Klise is a writer. She is one of my favorite writers. Everything she talked about today is something I've experienced or learned or can identify with. Which means I'm a writer. Not "I'm a writer, but I only write a blog." Not "I'm a writer, but not a very good one." Nope. I'm a writer. No qualifiers. Holy crap. And I will never look at the Leaning Tower of Pisa in quite the same way again.
Thanks, Kate. Whether or not you ever visit my blog, it was a pleasure and an honor to meet you today.