Lilith Saintcrow

Tonight I’ll be at the PNBA Nightcapper event (.pdf), signing copies of Strange Angels. I am told they will let the authors sit down for the signing, which is a Good Thing. My poor, poor toe.

Yes, it still hurts. No run this morning, just a walk. (An amble, more like.) And it’s still colorful, too. There. You now know more than you need to know about my toe. I was felled not by a mortal enemy but by a kiddie rocking chair. I will never live this down.

I did promise a recap of the Beaverton Powells SF Book Club event. It started out propitiously; the GPS on the new phone works fine. The kids were absolutely enchanted by the thing–Coyote Boy held it while I drove, and it gave us directions in that weird unmodulated female voice. It was like I had a genie trapped in my phone. We almost wanted to drive somewhere else to hear it continue talking, but we were on a schedule.

The event itself was great. I was very nervous at first, but everyone was so kind, and the club asked hard, complex questions about the book they’d chosen, Night Shift, the first in the Kismet series. This sort of thing is great because you know they’ve read and thought about it. It’s an author’s dream. I do feel kind of weird talking about the characters who are real people to me (especially when I started talking about VaVamojoes, Jace Monroe, and the necklace) but not, strictly speaking, “real.” I kept an eye out for the men in little white coats.

There were snacks, and much discussion. It was wonderful to see what people in the club had taken away from the book, and wonderful to be able to analyze the different things I’d thought of and decisions I’d made while in the heat of creation. I was also sitting next to a display rack that held a bunch of my books, and it was kind of weird–it’s a shock to see them all together in one place.

After the discussion, there were books to sign. A few fans I knew had shown up–Jay the Famous Flinx, the tall and fabulous M. Oyen, Newrotic Girl and her friend who saved my day that once. Familiar faces in the crowd help a lot. I signed and chatted and generally enjoyed myself immensely. And, before I go on with the story, I want to thank Saint Peter, Lea, and John B. for inviting me out and making the event go smoothly. Thanks, guys!

So there I was, signing and chatting like a good little author.

Then…real magic happened.

The night and the event didn’t really belong to me. The event belonged to the bookclub and the night really belonged to a girl named K.B.

K. was one of my writing students back when I was running the Write Like You Mean It class. One of the first things she turned in was the start of a sci-fi fantasy space opera thing. I read the opening and it about knocked me out of my socks, and I pulled her aside to say, “This? When you finish this, you need to let me see it.” I was also harsh–I am a very hard editor. And K. is very shy. You wouldn’t think a debate champion would be so painfully shy.

I’ve seen her several times since then–she’s gotten married and engaged on that journey called Adult Life–and I always asked about the book. It was in varying stages of working on, finished a draft, revision, and so on. “When you’re ready, give it to me,” I would say. And K. would look like I’d just told her to chop her own fingers off.

Tuesday night, she waited until most of the crowd had cleared, then came up and sat down beside me. We got through our “how are you”s, and then I asked about the book. K. nerved herself up to it.

“You know how you said…that you would want to see it? Do you still want to?”

“Hell yes!” was my reply.

“If I…If I could put it in your hands right now…would you like that?”

Dear Reader, I misted up. “Of COURSE I would like that! Do you have it?”

Her husband had it, and she laid it in my hands. I hugged it, hugged her. Hugged her again. I almost cried.

I told her, “You have done something 99% of the people who call themselves writers never will. You’ve finished a long piece, and you’re showing it to people. I am so proud of you.”

Then she knocked me out of my socks again. “I submitted the book to *agency in New York*. They asked for first fifty pages, then asked for a full.” She paused, looked down. “Then they rejected. But there was some stuff they said–revisions I’ve made.”

I was so proud I could have burst open and spread butterflies all over the store. “That’s good–that’s one of the last wickets before you get accepted. Don’t stop,” I basically said. “You’re working on something else now?”

K. nodded. “Yeah, I’m in the middle of a fantasy novel. But this one…” And then, in Holden Caulfield’s words, she absolutely killed me. “I, ah, put your name on the dedication page. For this one. My first. Is that, you know, okay with you?”

At this point I broke down and sobbed like a girl, and hugged her. Again. “Of COURSE it’s okay, it’s YOUR book, you dedicate it to whoever you want! I am so, so honored and proud of you!” And I kept on babbling about how proud I was of her, how she had the talent to make it, how honored I was.

I have got to tell you. That moment right there? That is probably the proudest I’ve felt since I held the first copy of the first book I ever got published. I was almost as proud, stunned, and honored as I felt when I held both my kids for the first time. To see K., who has struggled and sweated over this book, making it–doing the right thing, not giving up..and then to have her lay that draft in my hands and tell me that I’d helped her in some way…my God. Right now, I am crying as I write this. The moment was THAT powerful.

It was MAGIC. Tuesday night belonged to K. She’s done the hardest part of being a writer, and done it with such grace and strength. I felt just as proud as paint to have encouraged her, though she probably would have done it without me.

That draft she laid in my hands is something I’m going to keep until I die. Any time I feel like quitting, like this is too much for me, like it’s a thankless task…well, I’m just going to remember K.

She thinks I’m the teacher here. But it’s not true.

Related posts:

1. Daily Magic
2. Writers And Social Media: The Shoulds
3. Writers And Their Money, Parted

Tags: Joy, what we know is true, Writing (About)

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 10th, 2009 at 11:38 am and is filed under Deep Thoughts, Events, Real Life, Writing (About). You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.