Yesterday, I got to talk with a real writer.
A published-many-times writer.
A fiction-nonfiction-poetry writer.
A known-expert writer.
A teach-at-writers-conferences writer.
Coincidentally, I saw a flyer for one of his workshops and I emailed him to see if I could steal some of his time when his class was finished.
Luckily, he said yes.
Now, I wasn’t a total stranger to this writer. I had taken his class at the writers conference two years in a row and he knew me by name. This writer, had seemed genuine when he said to the participants, “you can call me or email me,” but honestly, you never know if that’s sincere.
And it was. He was.
We spoke in a busy coffee shop. A you’re-lucky-if-you-can-find-a-seat place and I asked him questions that I had previously written in my notebook.
I don’t know why, but I was impressed and surprised by his honesty, his generosity, and his “realness” because, he is a real writer.
He shared strategies and his ideas and he never acted as though I was a teacher pretending to be a writer.
After an hour and both of our coffees were gone, I apologized for taking too much of his time. He smiled and didn’t seem as though I had overstayed my welcome. In fact, he repeated his previous offer of future phone calls.
Looking back, it was silly to be nervous, but sometimes still, I don’t feel like a “real writer” and I get easily intimidated by those who can say it without question, without a moment of doubt.
Maybe it’s because of the various hats that I wear as the elementary teacher-homeschooling mama-blogger-and finally-writer.
This coffee meeting helped in so many ways and I truly appreciated this real writer.
If you have a moment, check out Terry Persun’s work. He is a real writer and a real gentleman.