Wooing a Writer
8 pm on a cool, crisp night I sat at a table for two in a local high-end seafood restaurant, on the outskirts of Oklahoma City. The dim lighting brought a feel of romance and seclusion for this last-minute rendezvous. The intensity of my excitement was matched equally by the smooth and savory garlic butter sauce atop my perfectly seasoned mussels. It was my first date out with a writer.
She had been in hiding professionally for two decades. Believing the critics of the day, she stood sheepishly on the edges of the ballroom where professional freelancers, authors, instructors and more were dancing the night away – building business success and enjoying every 2-step and waltz along the way. She believed the view she had created, a zone on the sidelines for imposters to stand, pitches and drafts of introduction in hand. She had been attending for years, carrying brainstormed ideas and rough drafts that she deemed not good enough in a portfolio under her left arm.
That one fateful night, early in 2023, the unthinkable brought light to her eyes and life to her soul. I saw her. Like really, saw her. Not the sheepish and failure-ridden eyes and grimace I had noticed she carried before. Instead, I saw the passion and dedication that emanated from her. The love of the dance, that her feet had never been invited to join. As I crossed the room nervously, she froze in place, staring into my soul, unsure if she was being seen. A breath of excitement and relief whistled through her lips as she took hold of my outstretched hand.
“I AM A WRITER!” she blurted loudly with eagerness as we strolled onto the literary dancefloor. “I see that,” I replied, “and I would like to know you better. To work with you. See what kind of magic we can create”. Not a bad pickup line, and the beginning of a new and beautiful relationship.
~~~~~~~
Gazing through the steam rising from the culinary delicacy luring me to enjoy it, I assessed the well-decorated walls around the room. Noting the decor matched the penguin-like dressed staff, I hid a giggle and allowed the smile to pass to the waitress refilling my water glass. Across from me, the chair was empty. For anyone looking on, it may have appeared that I had been stood up. The fact is very different. My date was here. Once hidden in my soul. Once standing on the sidelines of living and thriving, looking on in hope and fear. She was present now, speaking to my heart and mind as though we were side by side every moment of the day.
After decades of writing things, putting them away for “someday”, believing the lie that I was not good enough and might never arrive.
I am here.
I am a writer.
And I’m not going away any time soon.
