Emily is after me, and not in a good way. She wants to know why she should listen to me about anything. Being a veteran promoter, I started with my good points. I have extensive experience. I’m a good listener. My heart is in the right place (usually). And I’m a beloved member of the writing community.
“Beloved? No one can stand you!”
That hit like a slap. “People hate me?”
“Well, hate is a strong word.” Emily likes to make a bold statement, then back off. This makes for good writing, by the way. And though she’s still an MFA student, Emily is a really good writer.
“Dislike?” I offered.
“Not quite.” She thought. “More like, people find you irritating. You’re always going against the grain.”
There’s a lot of grain to go against. “Dr. Klewes likes me.”
“He’s afraid of you. Fear isn’t the same thing.”
That’s for sure. I mentioned a bestselling author who gave a recent talk. He was actually a friend of mine, or at least a professional friend. He was always happy to see me, I said.
“He respects you, and hopes some of what you have will rub off.”
I rather hoped some of what he had would rub off. “How about Caroline Palmer?”
“She thinks you’re funny. Plus, you’re always flirting with her.”
I’m always flirting with everyone. The women, at least. Caroline is 82 years old. She flirts back, and knows what she’s doing. I mentioned several more, and Emily shot them all down. Evidently I was tolerated, not loved. My tendency to challenge, she said, guaranteed it would never be love.
“What about you?” I asked. I should mention Emily has dark eyes, which grow darker when she’s worked up. I don’t want to leave out important stuff.
“I like you fine. But I’m a bad example. I don’t need to be told I’m wonderful, or a good scout. And I feel sorry for you. You don’t seem to realize what makes a person popular. People don’t want the truth. They want rainbows and unicorns.”
She is done, and hurries off to wherever she hurries off to. Whole parts of her life are a blank, and I’m far too respectful to pry. After a little reflection, I decided she is right. I am difficult. Maybe I should tell everyone how wonderful everything is, that our industry is wonderful, that the world is wonderful.
Maybe I should become an upbeat, all good no bad, rainbows and unicorns kind of guy.
Nah.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com