I met a famous writer a few weeks ago who I admire greatly. I was nervous for my friend to introduce me to her because well, . . . what if she wasn't like the person I knew from her writing?
But guess what? She was lovely. She was warm and genuine and funny. Before the party ended, I broke out my selfie-stick and we snapped a photo together. And I walked away from the party just giddy.
When I got home from the conference, I worked up the nerve to send a note to her and a copy of my book. Truly, I had no expectation that she would read it. But then . . . I got an email from her saying that she had just devoured the first 64 pages of my book but had to put it down only because grades were due the next day and she had work to do.
Of course I was elated. And I thought that was that. Until . . . I received another email a few days later that read:
"Dear Heidi, Yes! You have restored my love of reading! Thank you for this powerful novel." Signed Famous Writer.
So, yeah. That happened. And I'm not sure that I have totally processed it, or celebrated it, or took to heart what it means.
But for today at least, I'm sitting down with the manuscript again after another long hiatus and I'm keeping Famous Writer's words in front me so that I can keep reminding myself I can do this. I can fill up that blank page.
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