I seem to be meeting the most interesting “kindred spirits” of a sort these days at the local Starbucks. Today, even sick as a dog, I had to get out of the house for some air and a cup of coffee, before heading home to bed again. Never thought I’d bring along my computer. But it seems that as I am a 68 words per minute typist, it is easier to bang out a blog online than on paper. I tend to save the tree bark for more intense story-telling.
Today was serendipitous. Wading my way through noisy babies, cell phones ringing loudly, food counter alarms, a patron skyping his girlfriend and haggling for heavy cream – let’s just say the place was lively – I found myself sitting down next to a girl, just like me, who grew up in Boston, moved to New York City and eventually came to LA for a different kind of life. ha! What’s more she had been a successful publisher for Harper Collins, putting out “indies” on the market for more than 10 years. My interest was immediately piqued.
We began our chat (despite my tired and sore throat) about the mind jarring , coffee-house, disruptions but ended with a brief on writing including a bit on my current LA Theatre Review coverage of Hollywood Fringe. “I’m just having fun doing it,” I tentatively blurted stepping back from declaring that it was somewhat of an intentional new path. I mean she was a publisher. I didn’t want to sound like I was soliciting. Her response was direct.
“There are so many people out there who call themselves writers but don’t really write the books themselves. And they aren’t necessarily very good. So if you are writing. Then you are writing. You are a writer. Own it.” And that was it. All I needed to hear. So if I needed any more assurance that focusing more and more toward putting pen to paper and fingers to keys more than ever, was a valid enterprise, I now have a definitive answer. Not the why but the what – and by – well – an expert on words.