I recently had the privilege of meeting a fellow writer. This is a rarity for me, as writers are rather solitary creatures, not given to running in packs (except to Starbucks). Come to think of it...I've not met one since school!
I was curious as to what I would see...a mirror in which I could see my own motivations? A tormented genius, holding desperately and joyously to life by the fingernails, while taking deep draughts of life's most intoxicatingly pure nectar?
Or perhaps a cool professional, seeing the novel as Khayyam's chess game, with characters that move, mate and slay, and back in the closet one day lay?
What I met was a lovely and vivacious person, of friendly smile and sparking eye, who put me at ease with a manner that was both humble and exalted. A person of royal blood and common touch, whom I'd just met and had known forever.
It didn't matter that I'd met a writer. It means the world that I met a friend.
I have tried to form into words how I felt meeting the elder of my two brothers. You have formed the thoughts that my heart and mind couldn't find.ReplyDelete
I watched the sacrifice unfold, the one you made to come to the table and sit, your back to the room with the ghosts dancing all around you. I saw it in your eyes, and the eyes of your beautiful warrior.
I cannot thank you enough for the gift you gave me. I know it was a sacrifice in the purest sense of the word. I am humbled to know a person would give so much, just to meet me.
I came away from that time with a sense that we 3 had formed a small army.
There will be beauty from the ashes that float in the air around you.
It was a deep honour to meet you.
And my dear, dear friend, if I am of royal blood, then you, sir, are the warrior at the gates who carries the true burden and has the purest valor. You and your princess both.ReplyDelete
I - we - are so moved, and so grateful. Truly a day touched by Grace.Delete