Have you ever wished to meet a famous writer? I did.
Sometimes you have a wish. Then you move on thinking it is very unlikely the wish will come true. Until that unexpected moment. Your wish comes true. Only not the way you expected..
Besides sharing my journey in the Substack to find back my writing style, I was also hoping to hear experiences from other people. So it was great that people shared their experiences in respons to last weeks blog. I was surprised to find out that people had not thought about it and it was an eyeopener to them. Someone commented:
“..working with numbers and formula, I think I lost my writing style as well.”
Before I set up this Substack, I wandered how great it would be to meet a writer in real life. I had already dared to spontaneously write a message to Finnish writer Mia Kankimäki. You can read back how she responded. That was a pleasant surprise. But to go a step further and meeting a professional writer seemed unreachable.
The only times I did meet a famous writer, was in the way most people did: to stand in a line. It was after a book presentation in the local bookshop. The presentation took longer than expected. People were queuing up, while the writer walked slowly to the designated table. Before sitting down I saw her turn her head facing the wall of books. From where I stood I could see her face. It was as if invisible small stretched rubber bands tied to her cheek, suddenly relaxed making her ‘smiley face’ change into a tired looking expression. Her eyes scanned the book titles like she was looking for encouragement. Then her lips moved and I imagined her saying:
“The evening has almost ended. Come on! You can do this last part and then go home!”
Facing the crowd again her smile was back. A feeling of shame went through me. And yet to this day I can’t recall why I decided to wait patiently for my 30 second encounter just to get her signature. Definitely not the best moment to start an in depth conversation with a famous writer!
After that encounter I gave up on seeking actively to meet a writer in person. But my hunger to hear from other writer’s experiences grew. So in case I would meet that certain writer I prepared some questions in my head. I wanted to ask about their journey in discovering their personal writing style. What obstacles were tackled? How long did it take to find back their writing style? How did that writer know or feel when they started writing from the heart? Besides all that I was just curious about the person behind the writer.
Basically I was trying to answer those questions for myself. Just to make sense of my own quest to find back my writing style. So the writer I was going to meet would have to be a modest writer. Who did not like to be in te centre of attention. Who was able to touch the reader through conveying a message in few words whilst exposing vulnerability at the same time. I had high expectations! Time passed and I had almost forgotten about it.
The moment I let go of it my wish came true
My wish came true on a summer evening in my old neighborhood. It was at the end of a long day in which I had an intense physiotherapy session. I had to take the dog for an evening walk. With every step I took, I felt a burning pain traveling from my lower back to my toes. I just wanted to get home as soon as possible. My dog was in no rush and decided to sniff every inch of the grass. In my thoughts I was already lying on the sofa. The noise of some birds arguing over a piece of bread brought me back to the street. Feeling agitation I turned to get my dog moving. Then I saw a woman about a 100 meters away from me. She was sitting on a rock. A fence separated her from a petrol station where cars were parking and pulling up continuously. She did not seem to mind.
“That is strange. We just passed her. How could I have missed seeing her?”
She made a good choice to sit there as it was a bit hidden from the street. She was surrounded by tall grass that hadn't been mowed. Maybe that’s why I had not seen her. For a moment I hesitated what to do.
The last month’s there had been several incidents of a teenager or elderly person gone missing. Following my instinct I turned around and started walking towards the woman. My dog reacted with a bark but followed me happily. The woman had a thin posture wearing a light colored blouse and trousers. She was sitting straight up, looking fierce in another direction. Her grey, curly hair danced slowly in the wind.
As I came closer I was not sure if she noticed me. I could see her lips mutter. As she still did not look in my direction I asked in a neutral voice:
“Hello, how are you?”
In one motion the woman turned towards me looking me straight in the eyes. My heart started to beat faster and my brain was working overtime:
“Did she not see me coming?! She was in the middle of something and now I have taken her out of her bubble!”
It took a few seconds when her surprised look changed into a smile. She bended forward to take a paper cup in her hand. Lifting the cup in the air she made a ‘cheers’ motion towards me. Except for the dog’s leash in my hands, I had nothing to toast back with. Then in a clear voice she starting telling:
“This is my favorite place. I have been coming here for many years. It is a nice part of the city. Over the years so much has changed.”
For a moment she stopped talking. I felt my head nodding as to approve that she could continue.
“I like to sit here and think about how it was in the old days. How the houses looked like. The type of cars parked in the street. But what I like to watch most is the people. The neighborhood over the years may have changed but people are people. I remember the way they interacted years ago on the streets. What people did on a warm summer evening. They made a chat with each other or walk their dogs together. Just like they do this evening. Sometimes I watch people argue about nuisance things like a parking space, music that is put on too loud. Or a cat pooping in the neighbours garden. The housing renovation will not solve those issues. Living in such a dens proximity will always have these daily problems. You see I am an artist and as a spectator it gives me every time inspiration.”
“What do you do once you get inspired?” I asked. She briefly replied:
“Write stories.”
At that moment I did not realize that my wish had come true
My face felt suddenly warm and for a moment did not know how to respond. I felt totally uneasy but somehow managed to stumble an apology.
“I did not realize I interrupted your moment of inspiration. My care heart made me come and ask how you are.”
My apology was answered with a loud laughter.
“ Ha ha! I don’t mind. Usually people just walk on. Maybe what you do is part of the process of getting inspired.”
For a moment we looked at each other.
“Perhaps,” I began slowly. “..perhaps you could write down these stories and collect them in a book so people can read read it.”
“Hunger for life.” she answered firmly. “That is the title of the book. It has just been published.”
I was so overwhelmed by this answer, that all I could do was to smile. I did not know how to respond. All she did was smile back at me. As if she was waiting for me to start sharing her my story. Instead I nodded to her, mumbled a ‘good evening’ and walked home feeling very confused.
When I got home I looked at myself in the hallway mirror and got angry:
“Stupid! You wanted to meet a real writer. A modest person. And it practically happened in your backgarden. The chance of a lifetime to ask all the big questions. What do you do?! Nothing! No questions asked. Instead you smiled and walked away!”
That night I did not sleep well. I was angry for not seeing I had missed out on this great opportunity.
A few days later I walked again the same evening round with my dog. As we approached the rock I felt my footsteps slowing down. Nobody was sitting on the rock.
At that moment it hit me. This woman had called herself an artist not a writer! That made me confused. Maybe she thought I had recognized her and it was her way of diffusing me. Whatever reason she had to call herself an artist, sitting on that rock was not a passive activity. That rock was her workplace. She let herself be inspired, to absorb everything in her surrounding. She processed her observations, let her thoughts flow and just enjoyed being in that very moment of time. And she was doing all that in the same time!
There was a moment in her life that she decided to just sit down and start writing. Without feeling strained by what other people would think. She had overcome her barriers through live events only she knew about. It was enough to just sit on a rock and let the world pass her by.
Obstacles? They don’t exist!
My questions were answered. Through meeting her I had come to realize, that the obstacles I was feeling about my writings, were deeply rooted in my head and feelings. It would need some time though, to uproot it.
As I stood there I heard her voice saying:
“Do not hesitate. The road takes you where you need to be at that very moment. Keep using your senses and make a toast to whoever crosses your path.”
