There are a lot of truly great things about my job, but among my favorite is meeting our authors. I’ve had June 18th and 19th marked on my calendar for a month; a potential new author and his wife coming into town. We had dinner at a nice steakhouse last night, and met again today for a working lunch.
“How many books have you written now?” I asked.
The author combed his hand over his gray beard, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiled. “Over 700.”
I wish I knew the exact number, but am aware that it doesn’t entirely matter because SEVEN HUNDRED BOOKS. At least.
This is where I had to reel it in. You know: it. That writerly instinct that makes me want to yell out something like: “how do you do it how do you come up with so many ideas do you plot first or are you a pantser how do you find time to edit TEACH ME YOUR WAAAAYYYSSSS.” Just like that—lack of punctuation and all. The good news is that I ended up with the answers to these questions, I just had to sit back and let it happen organically.
My boss and the author left the cafe we met in twenty minutes ago, and here I sit. I said, “I’m going to stay and work for a bit; get everything we discussed down before I forget it.” It’s the truth, but also not. I’m feeling inspired and motivated but also transfixed. I’m motionless with terror and awe in equal parts.
1. I have the coolest job.
2. I better get writing