An amazing thing has just happened. I just spent 45 minutes in a bookstore and didn't cry. In fact, I BOUGHT BOOKS. I read book jackets. I was thrilled there were so many choices!
I did not, as I have had for the last 18 months, feel jealous, petty, or small. I did not think all the books were yelling at me, screaming "WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE US YOU PATHETIC POSEUR?" I actually kissed my almost-husband and sat on the floor with him and BROWSED without alarm.
Walked out with David Leavitt, Steven Byers, and four years worth of THE BEST AMERICAN TRAVEL WRITING in preparation for our 4 week honeymoon, a lot of which will be spent on trains where hopefully I will gaze out the window and have brilliant, travel-writing thoughts. I couldn't stop grinning.
And then I remembered:
This was the feeling I'd felt the night I met Dave, heading out to mee him for our first date on the heels of a fabulous workshop with the late Hubert Selby Jr. I was totally hyped up on the discussion the group had had about a story a friend of mine had written, and had spent three hours pushing for him to keep the PERFECT WONDERFUL SUBTLE ending that no one else in the room got. It was living writing to me, and I was thrilled to get to read it and talk about it ... and then I went on the best date of my life with a man who loved watching me love talking about writing, and dear reader, in 39 days I get to marry him.